


Enigma

by spengie



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: #Post episodes, Chakotay Has Feelings, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 38
Words: 30,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28038936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spengie/pseuds/spengie
Summary: “I really am trying to help you.” He smiled tentatively at her. “We just need some time. Get to know each other a little better.”*Tags will be updated as they apply. Please recheck them as needed so no one feels uncomfortable *Post-episode, Chakotay centered. Developing a friendship. Probably developing more than just a friendship.
Relationships: Chakotay & Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 284
Kudos: 128





	1. Softer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dawn47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn47/gifts).



> Gift to Dawn47, even though I don't know you. But very much inspired by Hugs and Kisses.
> 
> Not beta'd. I own all the mistakes.
> 
> *Tags will be updated as they apply. Please recheck them as needed so no one feels uncomfortable *

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Parallax

When she found him he was in the mess hall, gazing out the large window. He didn't turn at her approach.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said quietly as she stepped up next to him. “You were right.”

Her shoulder brushed his as she gazed with him out the window. He glanced at her but she continued to look out at the stars. He could see the tension in the set of her shoulders, fatigue around her eyes. He took the opportunity to study her. She was intriguing, more than anyone he’d ever met, he thought. She was attractive, but not in the traditional sense; her features were too harsh, her jawline too strong, but he felt drawn to her, captivated by her spirit, her heart.

She was fiery, intense and passionate. Fearless – but, no, that wasn't quite right. He’d seen her distressed; brave was a more apt description.

He thought about the argument they'd had earlier in her ready room. She’d been furious, her eyes so expressive, flashing, thrillingly _dangerous_. She'd stepped right into his space, never backed down. His anger had flared in the face of her ferocity, his blood running hot. If anything, it provoked her further. He'd never admit it to anyone, but Gods it had turned him on. Tonight, though, she seemed reserved. A gentler energy was flowing from her. She seemed so much smaller here, softer somehow.

She turned to him, weariness settling on her face, features pale in the starlight. “Commander…,” she started.

“I really am trying to help you.” He smiled tentatively at her. “We just need some time. Get to know each other a little better.”

Her small smile encouraged him.

“Although, you have quite a head start. You knew all about me before I ever met you.”

Her smile widened and her whole face transformed; he blinked rapidly – she was _stunning_. His breath momentarily caught in his throat.

“I know the very basics, simple data. I have a feeling there's a lot more to know about you than that, Chakotay.” She turned that brilliant smile to him and put a warm hand on his arm. “I would very much like to get to know you better.”

He smiled, teasing her. “Well, we’ve got about 75 years. I imagine we'll know each other very well by then.”

He regretted his words immediately. Her smile instantly dissolved; her peaceful aura evaporated. Distress darkened her eyes. Tension ratcheted up her shoulders and neck, exhaustion settling on her face. A small muscle twitched along her jaw.

 _Guilt_ , he thought in a sudden flash of insight. _She feels guilty_.

“Hey.” He put his hand on her arm. Frustration and dismay made him feel like he was failing. He didn't know what to say, what to do to comfort this fascinating, enigmatic, _despairing_ woman in front of him. Gods, he just wanted to see that heart-stopping smile again.

She didn't give him the chance to comfort her. She pulled away from him. Her voice was low, gravelly. “Thank you for your help today, Commander.” She cleared her throat. “It’s late, we should get some rest. Goodnight.” She turned and walked toward the exit.

“Goodnight, Captain.”

He felt oddly bereft when she left. He shook his head to clear it, but it would be a long time before his mind stopped puzzling over the enigma that was Kathryn Janeway.


	2. Glitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Phage

She was sitting in the mess, her food untouched when he approached. She was staring out at the others in the room.

“Captain,” he spoke softly so as not to startle her. He winced when she jumped anyway. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“It’s fine, Commander,” she said, waving her hand at him. “I was distracted, I apologize. Please, join me.”

He sat across from her, eyes studying her. She was still distracted he noted, still preoccupied with whatever had been bothering her before. She seemed sad somehow. Or maybe more like troubled, or anxious. The thought bothered him. 

“What's on your mind?” he asked casually. 

She shook her head, just a slight tilt, nearly imperceptibly. He eyes, startlingly clear and so bright, met his. _Not here,_ they seemed to say. 

He deftly changed the subject. “How's dinner?” he asked with a small smile.

“Edible,” She replied, returning his smile, her features relaxing, the worry retreating. His heart warmed at the sight. She took a few bites, and he was glad to see her eating. He knew she often went without so the crew could have more. He was worried about her, he realized. He wondered when his intrigue and fascination with her had turned to genuine care. Care enough to worry. Concern for how she was feeling, her well-being, how she was holding up against the constant strain of being out here.

She rose and he stood with her. 

“Please, stay and eat, Commander. I have some work to attend to.”

“I ate earlier,” he replied. “Need any help?”

She stared at him for a few seconds. “No, thank you. Just a few things to follow up on.” She turned to leave.

“Captain,” his voice was low, cool and reassuring. She lifted her eyes to his. “Let me help you.” 

She gave him the almost- shake of her head again, that slight twitch that was, he was discovering, her sign of negation. Definitive but not disapproving. Almost as if she didn't want to say no, or didn't want to discourage him from asking again. She turned to leave. 

He placed his hand on her arm. “Let me help,” he said again. 

“That's not…”She started.

“Not what?” he interrupted. “Not my job as your first officer?” His voice remained gentle, his concern genuine.

She turned to him then, bright eyes searching his, looking for… _looking for what?_ he wondered. _Sincerity, trust, honesty…_ He maintained his gaze. 

She dropped her eyes from his scrutiny. “Okay,” she conceded. “Meet me in my ready room in 20 minutes.”

He smiled, although she didn't look at him again to see it. 

÷÷÷÷÷÷

They worked in comfortable silence, opposite sides of her ready room couch, absorbed in reports, statistics, and evaluations. 

Her coarse voice caught him off guard. “I worry about keeping them safe,” She said. She glanced up at him, the concern he saw earlier returning. “I'm responsible, and we are far, far from help.”

He was silent a moment, considering his response. “I think we have to trust them to keep themselves safe, provided we give them the tools to do so.”

“I was caught so unprepared. How do you deal with such arrogance, disregard for another's life?” Her voice had become low but held an edge of steel. “How do you just ‘harvest' parts with no regard for the lives you affect?” Her eyes glittered, sharp, dangerous. 

He shifted closer to her, placing a hand on her arm. He eyes widened and she slowly pulled away from him. She surged from the couch agitated, pacing in front of him. 

“I was furious at them and at the same time I was devastated, heartsick.” She ran a hand over her hair, a few strands loosening at her touch, floating softly around her face. 

She practically glittered in her distress, and his heart squeezed with his desire to help her. Ease her turmoil, quiet her agitation. He was at a loss, floundering again in the face of her suffering. 

“What can I do to help you?” he asked, hoping she didn't catch the tremble of uncertainty in his voice.

She stopped pacing, looked at him, wariness and hesitation infiltrating her features.

_She still doesn't trust me,_ he thought. _Well, it's not like I've given her a lot of reason to. We barely know each other._ He vowed to change that, to earn her trust. 

“Thank you for your help tonight, Commander.” She turned to him. “Chakotay,” She added, voice softening on his name. “Thank you for…”She paused, “…listening." She approached him, placing a warm hand on his chest. “Let's call it a night.”

He grinned at her. “Sounds good. I'll walk you back to your quarters,” he offered. 

She graced him with that heart-stopping smile and he followed her out of the doors.


	3. Somehow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Eye of the Needle

He was restless, disappointment thrumming through his veins. _So close, they had been so close to getting a message home._

He knew the rest of the crew was suffering through the same feelings, grieving over the lost chance to let their families know they were okay. To let Starfleet know to keep looking for them. 

Poor Harry had been so crushed, the look of utter desolation in his eyes. And the Captain; Gods, the look in her eyes. And the small tremor in her voice. It played over and over in his head, each time squeezing his heart a little more. He had found himself wanting to comfort her somehow. He had said nothing, unsure what words he had to ease her disappointment, unsure that it would be welcome at all.

She was a warrior, strong, fierce. She knew the crew depended on her strength for their own. He wondered who she turned to when she was struggling. Tuvok maybe, although he was hardly likely to be helpful with easing emotional strain. He recognized that she was a demonstrative leader, warm and affectionate with her crew. He didn't believe for a second that it was fabricated. 

He was at her ready room door before he fully thought out what he might say. But he _wanted_ , earnestly sought to gain her trust. They were a good command team, worked well together. He worried though, that she might be lonely, might need help decompressing after the hard days. 

Her voice was subdued, tired when she answered his chime. She was seated at her desk, surrounded by PADDs. She straightened at his entrance.

“Commander,” she said wearily. “What can I do for you?” Her voice was rougher than usual, exhaustion evident in her face. 

“Actually, Captain, I just came to see how you were holding up.” His voice was low, hesitant. “Today was a tough one.” He smiled tentatively, posture unassuming and expression as open as he could manage. 

She studied him, her blue eyes glittering, her face very still. 

_She still doesn’t trust my intentions,_ he thought. _She’s still not sure if my concern is real._

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Captain.” He spoke mildly, his voice still low. “I just- is there anything I can help you with?” He gestured vaguely toward her desk, frustration and embarrassment creeping up from his gut. 

She continued to look at him, curiosity creeping into her eyes. She let out a long breath. “Thank you, Commander.” Her voice still held that note of weariness. “I appreciate your,” she paused, brought one hand up, tension evident in the curl of her fingers, grazing it across her mouth as she sank back into her chair. “I appreciate your concern.”

He waited, unsure if there was more. Struggling to figure out what words he had that could help her. He moved toward her wanting to – wishing – _trying_ ; he stopped, hesitant when she tensed in her chair at his approach.

“Captain,” he said slowly. “I'm not –“ He cleared his throat. “Look, I just wanted to see if you were okay. I am concerned. It was a pretty devastating blow today.” He put his hand on her forearm. She flinched slightly but did not withdraw her arm. He felt her shudder under his touch.

“Devastating doesn't even begin to cover it.” Her voice was barely a whisper, thick and jagged. She swallowed hard. 

“Dinner?” he invited

She shook her head, “No, thank you. I’m really not hungry." She pulled her arm from his grasp. He watched as she pulled herself back together, burying her emotions and replacing her stoic mask.

He smiled at her. “If you change your mind,” he started, “or, if you need anything –"

“I'm fine.” She interrupted him. She graced him with a small, sad smile. “Thank you.” Her eyes glittered as she looked up at him. “Thank you, it's good to have,” She paused, considering. “It’s good to have a friend,” she finished quietly. “Let’s call it a night.”

He held out his hand, tentatively, relived as she grasped it and pulled herself to her feet. She placed her hand on his chest briefly before turning and walking toward the door. 

He followed her out, relief alleviating his tension, her composure bolstering his own. 


	4. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Prime Factors

He found her curled on the couch in her ready room. She had removed her boots and her legs were tucked up under her. She looked very small, defeated and wounded.

She looked up as he entered and wiped at her eyes. “Commander,” She said thickly. She cleared her throat. “What can I do for you?”

He shook his head almost imperceptibly. He moved slowly toward her, watching her, concern knotting in his gut.

“You okay?” He cautiously sat next to her, unsure if she would pull away from him again. The last thing he wanted was to cause her more distress.

She sighed, heavy and heartbreaking. She blinked rapidly and his heart wrenched as he suddenly realized she had been crying. The thought of her injured, her amazing, passionate, indomitable spirit marred in any way, caused a physical ache in his chest.

“Hey,” he said softly, putting his hand on her arm. 

She looked up at him, her eyes a stormy grey. “I’m fine,” she said quietly. She sighed. “It’s been a long day.”

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, trying to sound casual. _Let me in,_ he silently implored. _Let me help you._

She turned to him, curiosity overcoming wariness in her face. She slouched down on the couch and let her head fall back against the cushions.

“What do you say when your closest, most trusted friend goes behind your back? Of all the people to – to…” She paused, restless and agitated, folding forward on the couch, wrapping her arms around herself. “It feels like a bad dream. A nightmare, but I'm not asleep.” He put his hand on her back; the need to help her, ease her distress, beyond his control. She glanced at him, guarded, wariness returning to her eyes.

“He said he did it for me, but it still feels like the worst kind of betrayal. I don't know what to do. My head knows I should still trust him, but my heart is floundering.”

His hand began to soothe small circles on her back.

“You're not alone,” he said gently, earnestly. “I know it feels that way now, but it will get better. He will earn your trust, your respect, again.”

She sighed again, closing her eyes, her body thrumming with tension . He continued the caress of his fingers on her back. He applied a little more pressure to her rigid muscles, massaging the tension from around her spine. 

“Who do I trust now?” Her voice was forlorn, barely a whisper. Her elbows rested on her knees, face in her hands. 

“You're not alone,” he repeated.

They sat in silence for a long time, his hand never ceasing its soothing designs along her back. 


	5. Tilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hate drinking alone,” She offered with careful nonchalance. They both emptied their glasses. She took a long breath, letting it out in an exhausted sigh.
> 
> Post State of Flux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is maybe not quite right, but it's not getting better no matter how much Casa Noble I have. Drink up, buttercup. 
> 
> Not beta'd. I own all the mistakes.

She met him outside of the mess.

“Join me for dinner, Commander?”

“Captain, I –"

“Please,” she said, reaching for his arm. 

He nearly flinched at the contact. Discomfort knotted in his gut as he glanced at her. She _looks tired,_ he thought. _Anxious, unsure, maybe even angry. Angry with me,_ he mused, _for bringing that traitor on her ship._

He wanted to refuse, wanted nothing more than to disappear into his quarters and hopefully drink himself to sleep. To wake up and have this be a nightmare, to erase his horrid embarrassment, humiliation, his _guilt._

“C'mon,” she pressed. “I think we –" she paused, searching his face.

He lowered his eyes, his disgrace flashing hot under his skin. 

“I would like –" She cleared her throat. “Let's talk, Commander,” she finally finished.

He sighed, resigned, and nodded his assent, following her silently toward the turbolift.

She was silent all the way to her quarters. He trailed her, subdued and dispirited, preparing to bear the brunt of that anger he knew was smoldering just under the surface. 

She turned to face him as soon as they were inside her door. He braced for the onslaught of her fury as she approached.

Instead, he felt her hand rest on his shoulder. The anger still simmered in her eyes, but they softened as he met her gaze.

“Tough day. How are you holding up?” she asked.

Blink. Dumbfounded, he stared at her. His mind was paralyzed, so slow to catch up – the chasm between what he'd expected and what she'd offered too great. He felt as if the deck had tilted under him; he swayed slightly. 

“Chakotay?” Concern laced her words, her voice low and gravelly in the quiet room. 

He cleared his throat, embarrassed. 

“Sorry, Captain.” He dared to look into her eyes. “I was –"

He was still trying to get his feet under him again. _Gods, could this day get any worse?_

“I was not prepared for your question,” he finished lamely. She studied him for a moment. He looked away first.

“I'm sorry, Captain.” He looked down at his hands.

“Sorry? Whatever for?” She removed her hand from his arm, roaming around her quarters as she began searching for something. “It's certainly not your fault Sesksa escaped.”

“I'm the reason she was here in the first place.” He grabbed her hand as she walked by. “I'm sorry I brought her onto your ship.”

She took his hand in both of hers. They were warm, soft.

“I – what?” She looked into his eyes, confusion mixing with concern. “Chakotay, it's absolutely not your fault.” She gave him a small, cautious smile. “Seska had us all fooled. No one saw this coming.”

He shook his head. “I should have,” he said, exhaling heavily. “We were – well, let’s say we have a history.” He looked away, embarrassment heating his cheeks. “Had a history.” He swallowed. “Sesksa and I.”

Janeway released his hand, put hers back on his upper arm. “I assumed there was something.” She patted him gently, turning away. She walked to her desk and he heard her murmur as she continued to search. “Aha!” She pulled a bottle from behind her desk and poured clear liquid into two glasses.

“So,” she said, handing him a tumbler. “Tequila. Casa Noble. The whole galaxy over, and still the best.”

She raised her glass to him. Their glasses clinked and she downed hers in a single swallow. He sipped his, slightly uncomfortable with the thought of drinking real alcohol with the Captain. He'd made enough of a fool of himself already.

Mutely, she sat on her couch. Uncertain, he made his way to sit next to her. Tension thrummed through her slender body; she was coiled, taut, despite her earlier gentle words to him.

He didn't know what she needed from him. He wasn't sure if she knew either, or why she’d asked him here. They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. 

“I'm so furious,” she seethed, a whisper of venom in her tone. _There was her anger_. Something that felt a lot like relief washed over him. 

Anger flooded through her, eyes incandescent, her features fierce and passionate; it surged until she actually shuddered. Agitated, she bolted up again, hands clenching, her left hand curling at her side. She began to pace.

Leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, he sat silently, offering his support with his quiet presence. He finished his tequila, enjoying the warmth spreading throughout his body. His eyes followed her, watching her untamed, nearly frantic pacing, her body demanding release, desperate to find relief. 

Respect grew into amazement as he watched her pour and drain the glass a second time. And then a third. She resumed pacing.

“Have another.” She stopped and poured him another glass, along with another for herself.

“I hate drinking alone,” She offered with careful nonchalance. They both emptied their glasses. She took a long breath, letting it out in an exhausted sigh.

She finally sank, spent, onto the couch, leaned back against the cushions. “I'm angry. Hurt, and powerless to do anything about it. I don't even know what I'd do if she were still on board.” She looked sideways at him from her slouched position on the couch. “Throw her in the brig for the next 70 years?” She rubbed a hand over her face. Her eyes were bright, shining with frustration and defeat and something else he couldn't quite define.

The alcohol was taking effect; he felt warm and relaxed. He leaned back into the couch with her, their shoulders nearly touching. “I suppose we could have demoted her to Chef’s Assistant. Neelix is always asking for help in the kitchen.”

She huffed a small laugh. “I might worry she'd poison us all.” Then her tone grew serious, a weight to her voice he'd never heard before. “Especially me. She seemed to especially despise me.”

Before he could think logically about it, he had reached for her hand where it lay on her leg, squeezing it and laying both their hands back on her thigh. “Captain –"

“No, be serious,” she interrupted, pulling her hand out of his and looking up at him.

“Do you think I'm a fool?” Guilt, mean and ugly and _wretched,_ saturated her words. Her eyes glistened with uncertainty.

The vulnerability in her expression was like a kick to the gut; she’d never, _never,_ been so unguardedly honest with him. His hands hovered at his sides, suddenly restless – he ached to hold her. “Captain –"

“It’s okay, Chakotay.” Her voice was quiet, gravelly with self-condemnation. “I don't expect them all to like me. I had just hoped – it sounds ridiculous, I know. But I had hoped we were building a team. A family of sorts.” She gave him a small, sad smile, sitting up and shifting away from him, cheeks coloring. “Don't worry, I'm not so drunk that I don’t realize how ludicrous that sounds.”

“Hey,” he said softly, smiling at her. “You're not a fool. You’re - "

She began unpinning her hair. It tumbled down her back in long, burnished curls. He cleared his throat, his mouth unexpectedly dry. “You’re the best captain most of us have ever served with,” he managed, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. “The majority of the crew just don't have an appropriate frame of reference.”

She smiled at his words, that stunning, brilliant smile that he so cherished _. Gods, she was beautiful,_ he thought as he watched her. Shockingly, another feeling began to simmer in the back of his mind. An ache, oh he _wanted_ to – _Oh no, no._

“I – I should go.” He stammered as he hauled himself off of the couch. “Thank you for the tequila.” He studied her eyes. “I _am_ sorry about Seska. I hope you know I would have never let her aboard had I known.”

The captain rose from the couch as well. She stood in front of him. She seemed too close; he could smell the tequila on her breath. She put her hand on his chest. He shuddered at the contact, her palm simultaneously scorching and soothing. “I know.” She looked up at him, her voice softening. “I know. I'm sorry for how things ended for you. I know you cared about her, after a fashion.”

Chakotay closed his eyes briefly, desperately afraid he might do something utterly, utterly stupid if he – he cleared his throat. “Goodnight Captain.”

“Goodnight, Chakotay.”


	6. Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Cathexis   
> She looked at him, anxiety and tension obvious in the set of her shoulders, the curl of her left hand at her side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all your kind words. I hope you like this one also.

The doctor released him from sickbay. After all, his body was healthy, it was just his brain that had “died". He felt fine, was glad to be escaping the doctor’s less-than-pleasant bedside manner.

He was relaxing into his couch with a warm cup of açaí berry tea when his door chimed.

“Come in,” He said, not bothering to get up.

He was not shocked to see the Captain, but he was surprised to see her out of uniform. Dark gray leggings and a flowing navy top made her look delicate, in the way she never did in uniform. Her hair was half up, the rest flowing in rich and glossy waves over her shoulders and down her back. She looked at him, anxiety and tension obvious in the set of her shoulders, the curl of her left hand at her side.

“Captain,” he said, happy to see her. “What can I do for you?” Rising from the couch, he approached her, slowing as he saw her tension mount.

“How are you?” Her voice was low, her words ending in a faltering whisper. She cleared her throat. “I went to sickbay but the doctor said he'd released you.”

“I'm fine. A little tired.” He smiled at her. “I did have to do a lot of running around with everyone, even if you all were the ones doing the actual running.”

She didn't return his smile, eyes never leaving his face, distress manifest in the set of her shoulders. Both her hands clenched at her sides.

“Really, Captain, I feel fine.” Three steps closed the distance between them and he put his hand on her upper arm. She shook her head, that nearly imperceptible near-tilt that he now recognized as distress. 

“I thought I’d – we'd lost you,” she whispered, her eyes dark, shining. Her hand reached up toward his face and she shifted closer to him. He leaned ever so slightly toward her fingers. Abruptly, she pulled her hand back, awkwardly, her cheeks reddening. 

He grasped her other hand as she turned away. She stumbled. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her to steady her. She immediately stiffened in his embrace for one heartbeat. Two. Three. Shuddering, her arms slipped around him and she pressed her cheek against his chest.

Two sharp, convulsive, _painful_ breaths were wrenched from her lungs. She sagged against him, a long, quavering breath escaping. 

Heart aching in his chest, he tightened his hold on her, unsure if he would ever be able to let her go. He pulled her closer, self-control shattered, unable to stop himself from burying his nose in her hair. _Gods, this woman._ She absolutely and completely _wrecked_ him.

But when she lifted her head, his arms effortlessly released her. 

“I'm – " She paused, glancing down. “I'm sorry,” She continued. “I – it's an issue I’m working through.”

He extended his hand toward her, gesturing toward his couch. “Tea?” he asked, moving to pour her a cup. 

She accepted and sipped her tea, silently watching him as she settled against the cushions. She sighed and looked away. _Embarrassed,_ he thought.

“I have a problem regarding, um, caring overmuch for my crew. It's easy to push it away when I'm in the thick of it, but I always succumb when things calm down.” She glanced at him, anxiety in her tone.

He simply nodded for her to continue. 

“It had gotten so much better; _I’d_ gotten so much better.” She swallowed. “But being out here, so far from... It's all collapsed. I lost more than half my crew when the Caretaker dragged us out here.” She looked so heartbroken, distraught. Tears brimmed in her eyes. She glanced away, blinking them back.

She cleared her throat. “I'm sorry, it's –" she shook her head. “I shouldn't have mentioned it.”

He took her hand, holding it in both of his. His thumb worked small circles on the soft skin of her wrist.

“You've just always been so kind to me, even when I haven't deserved it. It's a bit lonely, being Captain, and…” She trailed off, looking out his window. He watched her silently, heart thundering in his chest, arms still aching to hold her.

She took a deep, steadying breath. “And I've enjoyed the time we've spent together the last few months, Chakotay.” Her words were soft, the admission difficult for her, he knew. He took her other hand in his, continued their soothing circles on her wrists and he waited, giving her space to figure out what she wanted from him. When she didn't speak again, he squeezed her hands in reassurance.

“I know you care about them. About all of us. It's not a weakness, Captain.” He smiled at her. “You're not alone. I – We care about you as well. We all look out for each other.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

They sat in silence for a while, her hands warm in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Let me know what you think.


	7. Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post The 37s  
> She said it with such honest gratitude, as if he had a choice.

The door chime rang a second time. He waited patiently outside her quarters, a bottle of Antarian cider in his hands.

Her voice was muted as she said “come in.”

Her quarters were dark, only a soft light illuminating her, curled on her couch, legs tucked up under her. He hair was down, spilling over her shoulder, waves of auburn catching glitters of starlight. She looked small in the low light as she turned her head to look at him.

“Am I interrupting?” His voice was cautious, undemanding. “I'm sorry, I thought we had dinner plans.”

“Oh,” she said, more of a breath than a word. She cleared her throat, voice still breathy as she said, “yes, of course.” She rose from the couch. “I'm sorry, I forgot.”

He smiled awkwardly. “We can reschedule. I don't mean to intrude.”

“No,” she said slowly. “No, please come in, Commander. I can replicate a quick meal for us.”

The use of his rank made him pause. “Really, Captain, it’s not a problem.” He hesitated.

“No,” she shook her head. “Don't go.” She turned to the replicator and murmured a low order. The silvery sound of the replicator seemed loud in the quiet room. She brought two bowls to the table. “Please, “she said, her voice gravelly, “stay, let's eat.”

He nodded and grabbed two glasses, pouring the cider as she set their food down and they both sat. He handed her a glass. She stared into the amber liquid and he watched her, silent.

Eventually she took a small sip, setting the glass down carefully. She didn't move to eat.

“Captain?” His voice was soft, studying her face.

A small, joyful smile creased her face. “They stayed. They _all stayed_.” Relief, happiness, and no small amount of wonder saturated her voice. 

“Of course they did,” he murmured. “Of course they did.” He smiled back at her. “They believe in you. Believe you can get them home.”

Laughter rippled from her, tension easing from her body. She took a breath, laughter still in her tone. “I was starting to think I was the only one who just wanted to _go_ _home_.”

His laughter echoed hers. “Getting home might even be worth eating Neelix's cooking for the next 70 years.”

She made a face and laughed again. “That may be stretching it.”

Suddenly the tone of her laughter changed. _She was crying._ The jolt of realization hit him so hard he felt a chill run down his spine. 

She brought shaking hands to her face, turning away from him, left hand curling at her mouth. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

He was moving toward her before he realized what was happening, chest aching at her distress, wanting, _needing_ to touch her, comfort her. He knelt in front of her, trembling, unsure what to do with his hands, paralyzed by the overwhelming urge to take her in his arms.

“ _They stayed_ ,” she whispered. Her body swayed toward him, shuddering. It was more than his heart could endure; he reached for her and folded her into his embrace.

“I'm fine, really,” she said through her tears. “I actually have no idea why I'm crying.” She huffed a short laugh. “This is ridiculous.”

“I never would have brought it up if I'd known just the mention of Neelix’s cooking would upset you so much.”

She laughed again through her tears as she pulled herself out of his arms. “I'm just so –" She took a deep breath. “I'm just so _relieved_.” She looked up at him. “I was terrified to walk in that cargo bay.” She shook her head briefly. 

She laid her warm hand on his chest. He wondered if she could feel his heart thrashing in his chest. “Thank you.” Her stormy eyes fixed onto his. “Thank you for going in there with me.”

She said it with such honest gratitude, as if he had a _choice_. As if he'd ever again have a choice not to follow her. As if he'd even be physically able to walk away…his knees felt weak.

“You’re not alone,” he managed around the devastating realization that there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. “We are all here. Together.”

“Together,” She repeated, smiling at him.


	8. Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Elogium 
> 
> Another incredible, wonderful, priceless piece of herself, offered to him without reservation, without any concern on her part over his reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, apparently this is where we're headed. These two. I have no idea.

He'd had just enough alcohol to allow his mind to wander as he watched her. It had been a quiet meal together, comfortably subdued and refreshingly uncomplicated.

She was clearing the dishes, walking them to the recycler. He liked seeing her off-duty; he noticed only subtle changes mostly – the steel in her eyes softened, she smiled more, her imposing Captain persona softer somehow. He was delighted every time she revealed a piece of herself – each joke, moment of joy, concern, or vulnerability – unearthed a wholly magnificent creature.

He was honored as well, at their deepening friendship; he had realized from the start that she was a difficult person to get close to. He sensed the distance was her own decision; what he couldn't discern was why. She obviously cared a great deal, for everyone on her ship. She made a point to get to know them, not for appearances but because she genuinely _cared_ about them. She was a very tactile person, but he had noticed no reciprocity from the crew – not surprising, she was the captain after all. No one was bothered by her touch, in reality they seemed to enjoy her attention, but no one ever initiated physical contact with her.

She had shied away from his touch initially, he remembered. It was easier now, she accepted his touch, wanted it even; still, he couldn't help feeling there was something holding her back.

The table cleared, she moved to the couch with her drink, kicking off her boots as she sat, curling her legs under her. He'd brought a favorite-recipe beer that he and Lieutenant Ayala had come up with years ago. She had been delighted at the idea and _he'd_ been delighted at her responding smile. He followed her and sank into chair next to the couch, taking a long drink from his own beer.

“Have you thought about it, yourself? Having children?”

He was oddly uncomfortable with that question, thinking he wouldn't have been six months previously – before he’d met her. He covered his discomfort with humor. “Lately, Captain, I've been far more concerned with mating _behavior_ than the outcome.”

She laughed – _Gods he loved that sound –_ and she let him off the hook. Her eyes twinkled as he laughed with her. “Well, you certainly proved your prowess today.” She tried to stifle a laugh but it escaped anyway. “Are you as well-versed with dominance as you appear to be with submission?”

 _Was she_ flirting _with him?_ He felt his cheeks redden, sudden heat blooming across his skin. He dropped his eyes to his beer, smile deepening, feeling slightly ridiculous.

Another incredible, wonderful, priceless piece of herself, offered to him without reservation, without any concern on her part over his reaction. She was relaxed, eyes brilliant with mirth. Playful, mischievous – another portion of the enigma that comprised this extraordinary woman.

He reveled in the knowledge she was this comfortable with him. Her trust and security and the _simple_ _ease_ with which she teased him on the bridge today. It was like a physical blow, wind knocked out of him – he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d turned to her in shock, not believing her words, not believing her tone. She'd never been so brazen – so _sassy_ , especially in front of the whole bridge crew. When he’d seen the playful glint in her eyes, he couldn't keep the grin off his face. His huff of laughter had been three-quarters surprise and a solid portion of amazement.

And now, she was here, _flirting_ with him. Teasing him, for sport. _Gods,_ he mused, _could I love this woman any more?_

The instant the thought was in his head a chill, cold sweat washed over his entire body. He stilled, panic encircling his chest, squeezing the breath from him. His thoughts raced. He’d never admitted, never put a name to what he felt for her; he had convinced himself it was _anything_ else, a thousand other words, a million other definitions – Intrigue, curiosity, a desire to help, to be good first officer, those were –

“Chakotay?” her voice held concern, all traces of her playfulness fading rapidly. “I'm sorry, I thought – I was only – ”

_Dammit, he was ruining it. He was ruining the whole godsdamned –_

“No, Captain, please.” His voice surprisingly even. He managed a smile, as though his whole world hadn't just imploded. As if he hadn't just been defeated by the hurricane that was Kathryn Janeway. As if he wasn't trying just to not godsdamn _drown_ in her.

He tried desperately, _desperately_ to recapture their easy comfort.

“I’d say I'm equally versed in dominant _and_ submissive behaviors. How about you, Captain?”

She laughed again at his words, the lilting sound the antidote to his agitation. He was able to take a breath, calm his racing heart. His smile became less forced, just watching her amusement while considering her response.

“Oh, I don't know.” Her eyes danced. “I'm not particularly good at giving up control.”

He was genuinely able to laugh with her at that, and as always, she managed to put him at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys. Thanks for all your comments. 
> 
> Not beta'd. I hope you all like it.


	9. Startle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Persistence of vision 
> 
> We are all doing we best we can. You’re doing the best you can. To survive. To get home. To get back to the people we love. And when we do, when we finally do get home, it won't matter that we did or didn't miss them as much as anyone thinks we should have.

_They sat on the couch in her quarters, relaxed after an easy meal. She reclined against him, her back nestled against his chest, his arm around her. His free hand was massaging the back of her neck, his fingers stroking her hair. She was warm against him and he covetously breathed in her scent, the apple scent of her hair and the summery essence that was just_ her _. His hand wrapped around her body, caressing her arm, moving in soothing circles down her side, across her ribcage. She fit against him perfectly, her lithe body pressed comfortably into his._

The blare of his alarm woke him abruptly, his arms clutching at empty space, and he immediately felt deplete. He rolled over and pushed his face into his pillow, not wanting the image to fade, trying to cling to the contentment he'd felt holding her in his dream. He'd had the same dream every night since the Bothan had first shown it to him two weeks ago.

He groaned as the image dissolved, getting out of bed to get ready for his shift.

She’d distanced herself from him over the last few weeks, preferring to spend her down time alone. They hadn't had dinner or spent any time together since they had regained control of their ship; he missed her company.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He put on his uniform and made his way to the bridge. The shift passed slowly, smooth sailing ahead for as far as their sensors showed. 

The Captain spent almost all of alpha shift in her ready room. She returned to the bridge for the last 25 minutes of the shift. He regarded her silently, noting the tension in her shoulders, the stress in the lines around her eyes. She looked tired, withdrawn, _sad_. The thought bothered him, especially since he had been missing her company recently.

He put a hand on her arm. “Captain – ”

She recoiled from his touch, flinching away from him so violently he worried she'd fall from her seat. Instinctively, he reached for her again to steady her, realizing too late it was the last thing she wanted; he was as helpless to stop his arms from trying to help her as he was to prevent the stab of unhappiness when his touch obviously added to her suffering. She bolted from her chair, stumbling away from his floundering attempt to catch her.

“I'm sorry Captain,” he said quietly. “I didn't mean to startle you. I – I was just wondering if you'd like to join me for a few rounds of Velocity tonight?” He tried to sound unconcerned, nonchalant, to not reveal that her reaction had _hurt_.

She turned to look at him, unhappiness and embarrassment etched onto her features. She recovered quickly. “No thank you, Commander.”

“Of course, Captain. Another time.” He said, suddenly weary. She was already leaving, walking toward the turbolift, moving with exquisite carefulness, her movements too rigid; she seemed to be holding herself together with every ounce of stoicism, her grit and tenacity nearly at their limits.

He was torn – His heart wanted to follow her, but her reaction to his hand on her arm scared him. She was like a wild horse, skittish and wary, reluctant to expose any sign of weakness, even when he _knew_ she was wounded.

Indecision warred within him as he left the bridge and made his way to the mess hall for some food. He wasn't hungry but figured he should try to eat. He managed to choke down about half his meal before he knew he needed to see her.

He made his way to her quarters. He needed her to know that he would be what he'd intended from the start: trustworthy, reliable, useful, and available. He wanted to help her, to lighten her burden, to offer comfort, companionship, to be whatever she needed. And if she truly needed space, he would give her that too.

He entered her quarters at her permission. She seemed a bit calmer, her agitation from a few hours ago receding. She looked up when he entered but did not seem overly surprised to see him. She regarded him silently, warily, her body still tense.

“I'm sorry to disturb your evening, Captain,” he said, his voice very even. “I know you said you'd prefer to be alone tonight and I respect that.” He cleared his throat. “I just want you to know that I'm – " He paused as she took a step back, away from him. “I’m here, as your friend. If you need to talk. Or drink tequila. Or just sit and not be alone. If you ever wanted,” He finished lamely.

Her eyes never left his face, but they widened slightly at his words, and seemed to shimmer as he finished his rambling appeal.

Her voice was thick, unusually hollow, devoid of her customary warmth. “Thank you, Commander. However, I’d very much rather be alone this evening.”

“Of course, Captain. Have a pleasant night.” He gave a brief nod and left her quarters.

C÷÷÷÷÷÷÷===÷÷÷÷÷÷÷C

Chakotay was stepping out of the shower when he heard his door chime.

“Just a second,” He called. He wrapped a towel around himself and made his way into his bedroom. He pulled on a loose pair of sweatpants.

“Come in,” He said as he made his way out to the door, toweling his hair dry.

“Captain,” He exclaimed, startled to see her. She had been very reserved over the last few days, but had not been actively avoiding him. Still, he was surprised to see her tonight. He suddenly felt terribly underdressed without a shirt.

“Excuse me, Captain, give me a second.” He turned back to his bedroom to grab a shirt.

“I – sorry, I – ” Her voice fumbled, hesitant. “Sorry to have interrupted you.”

“No. Please Captain, come in.” He pulled on his tee shirt as he emerged from the room. “What can I do for you?”

She looked at him, then averted her eyes and stared over his shoulder. He waited. She didn't speak for so long he was starting to worry.

“Captain?” he kept his voice as neutral, as calm as possible, remembering how badly he’d startled her a few days ago.

She flinched anyway, bringing her gaze back to him.

“Tea?” He offered.

He gestured toward the chair by his couch as he sat down, pouring their tea. He handed her a cup and she gazed down into hers as she perched on the chair.

“Thank you, Commander,” she said quietly.

He sipped his tea, still at a loss as to why she’d come, but giving her his wordless support. They sat in mutual quiet, drinking their tea. He had offered to sit silently with her, and if that's what she needed now he would do it. He was was just happy she was reaching out to him at all.

“I'm,” She hummed, low in her throat, gazing still into her tea. She huffed a mirthless laugh. “I'm not entirely – ” she paused. “I'm not sure why I'm here.” She raised her eyes to meet his, and his heart thumped painfully when he recognized tears in her eyes. “I was walking, headed to my quarters." Her voice trailed off; she shifted in her chair, looking down again into her tea.

“It's okay,” he said softly. “I'm glad you came by.”

She blinked rapidly, clearing her tears. He set his tea down, folding his hands into his lap, denying his body's overwhelming inclination to reach for her. He held himself very still, his movements carefully controlled, not wanting to make any motion that would startle her.

She was silent for a long time. He relaxed a bit, content that she was willing to just sit with him, relieved he had not ruined their friendship.

“I have, um, I’m engaged.” Her voice was very quiet. “Or, I was. Who knows if he's waited for me.” She swallowed another mouthful of tea. “We've been out here a long time.”

“Mark, right?” he asked gently. She nodded, resumed her silence. The quiet stretched on for several minutes.

“I miss him.” She suddenly offered. “I miss – " She cleared her throat, closed her eyes, turned her face away from him. A tear spilled onto her cheek and made its heartbreaking way down her face. She swiped at it brusquely, leaning her head back into the cushions of her chair with a sigh. 

“I can go days, weeks even, without thinking of him.” She said softly.

“And then you feel guilty. For not missing him enough.”

She opened her eyes, grief mixing with an emotion he couldn't define. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Listen, Captain. We are all doing we best we can. You’re doing the best you can. To survive. To get home. To get back to the people we love. And when we do, _when_ we finally do get home, it won't matter that we did or didn't miss them as much as anyone thinks we should have.”

Another tear traced its way down her cheek. “I feel like,” She hesitated, took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush. “I feel like I'm betraying him by getting close to –” another breath, “to others.”

“To me?” He felt nauseous.

“To you,” She confirmed. “To B'Elanna, to Tom, to Harry.” She looked at him, guarded, ashamed. “To Kes, Neelix.” A short breath. “To the characters in my holonovel.”

He was suddenly, unreasonably, ferociously angry.

“Is – is that what the Bothan showed you?” he growled, voice low and incredulous. “Mark, accusing you of – of, being _unfaithful_?”

As quickly as it had surged, his anger drained from him, leaving him shaking, hollow in its absence. He balled his hands into fists, trying to quell their trembling.

“That's absurd,” he said quietly, surprisingly evenly. “You said it yourself, we’re becoming a team. Teams rely on each other. Friendships develop.” He held her gaze. “Friends help each other through the tough times. Friends aren't afraid to ask each other for help.” He tentatively reached out to take her hand. She tensed, but didn't pull away. “Friends support each other. Comfort each other.”

“We can't function without personal relationships. Without depending on each other. Without trusting each other.”

He squeezed her hand gently. “Without _touching_ each other.”

“Chakotay – ”

“Captain,” he said, certainty softening his voice. “The crew needs physical contact. From each other, from you.” He gave her hand another squeeze before letting it go. “And I know you need it, too. I see how much you care for them. It's important. To them. To you.”

She stared at him for a moment longer, then looked down at her tea.

“No matter what that Bothan showed you, there's no shame in finding joy, or comfort, or friendship wherever you can. You're not alone, Captain. And no one deserves to feel lonely.”

She didn't respond. She stared silently into her tea. He sat with her, wordlessly, companionably, for a long time.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, Alien-Mark, that was a shitty move. I suppose that was the point.


	10. Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Maneuvers 
> 
> He put his head in his hands, desperate to be left alone. He felt like punching something. He felt like crying. He felt like sleeping for a week.

He sank into his couch in the dark, ignoring the chime of his door. His head ached; his heart ached. He took another drink from his glass, enjoying the burn of whiskey down his throat.

The door chimed again. He put his head in his hands, desperate to be left alone. He felt like punching something. He felt like crying. He felt like sleeping for a week.

His head snapped up as the door to his quarters opened.

“Captain.” He sighed and sat back on his couch. “I'm not really – ”

“I'm not terribly interested in what you want, Chakotay.”

_Angry, then,_ he thought. He said nothing watching her stalk toward him in the dark. She sat in the chair next to the couch.

“Whiskey?” She asked, picking up his bottle. She refilled his glass, poured a second for herself. She drained it in one swallow, handed him his glass.

He watched her, still silent as he drank his.

“Guess I have some catching up to do,” she said slowly, examining the half-empty bottle.

She poured and drained a second glass. They sat in silence for several minutes.

Finally, he couldn't take it. “I'm sorry,” he murmured.

“I know you are.” Her voice was carefully controlled, deliberately even. “And I'm angry. However, neither of those are going to help us right now.”

She sighed, reaching her hand to cover his. She rose from the chair to crouch in front of him. She took his glass from his hand, set it on the table. She turned back to him, taking both hands in hers.

_Kindness_. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the compassion in her face. Tears stung against his eyelids.

“Hey,” she murmured. She squeezed his hands, then let them go to sit next to him on the couch. Her shoulder brushed his and he shuddered.

“We’re going to get through this.” Her voice was gentle, her hand settling on his thigh.

_Forgiveness_. “How – why –" He couldn't gather his thoughts. Her kindness overwhelmed him: he felt shaky, unbalanced.

“A wise man told me once,” she said, reaching for his hand again, “that friends offer comfort. And touch.”

He opened his eyes. She gave him an uncertain smile. “You’re not alone, Chakotay.”

“I'm still sorry,” he said bleakly.

“And I'm still angry.” She squeezed his hand. “I guess we both have some work to do.” 


	11. Flutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Resistance 
> 
> What the hell happened on that planet?  
> She was clutching a necklace in her hands. He had no idea what could have happened that had distressed her so profoundly, but he refused to let her suffer alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one where Chakotay is clueless.  
> And Daddy issues. Have I hit them all yet? 
> 
> Also, please monitor your teeth and blood sugar. This is rotting fluff. There is nothing of actual value within this chapter.

She stood gazing out the window in the ready room. She seemed absorbed in thought; he wasn't sure she'd heard him come in.

“Captain?” His voice was soft but she flinched as he approached. She swiped at her face but did not turn around.

He worried when she didn't acknowledge him immediately; the feeling deepening as she finally responded, her voice low, thick with – with – _with sadness?_

“Yes, Commander, what can I do for you?”

He approached slowly. When she didn't turn to him, he placed his hand on her shoulder. “I just – ” His voice faltered; he was horrified to see that she was crying. “Are – Are you okay?”

_What the hell happened on that planet?_

“I'm fine.” She took a short breath. She closed her eyes, a tear slipping out between her lashes. She stiffened momentarily as his other hand rested on her shoulder. She was clutching a necklace in her hands. He had no idea what could have happened that had distressed her so profoundly, but he refused to let her suffer alone.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm and gentle. He reached a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb delicately brushing a tear from her face. She opened her eyes, gazing at the necklace in her hand.

“I'm fine,” she insisted again, voice barely a whisper.

He tilted her chin up so her eyes met his. Her lower lip trembled, mask crumbling as the tenuous hold on her usual stoicism was wrenched from her.

A fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. She let out another breath, heaving at the end in a sound that was painfully close to a whimper. She tried to repress her next breath, but it escaped anyway in a choked, heartbreaking sob.

Her anguish _thrashed_ through his chest and he shuddered, arms clenching painfully; he folded his arms around her and she sagged against him, hands to his chest, pressing her cheek against him. Her body trembled as she fought for control.

“It’s alright” he murmured, pressing his cheek against her hair, tightening his hold on her; he brought one hand up to the back of her neck, his thumb rubbing small circles on her soft skin.

She began to cry in earnest then, soft sobs that dampened his shirt and shattered his heart.

Reverently he held her, affection and tenderness surging within him. His fear in loving her ebbed as she drew comfort from his embrace. His greatfulness, the _sheer_ _relief,_ as she relaxed into his arms threatened to overwhelm him. He pressed a self-indulgent kiss to her temple. Surprised at the sudden ferocity of his love for her, he felt utterly defeated by the miracle of her in his arms.

“Thank you,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I, ah – sorry, I’m – " She raised her eyes to meet his.

Helpless to stop himself, he cupped her cheek with his hand, unable to let her go completely. Eyelids fluttering, she leaned briefly into his hand. She made a soft sound, comfort, or pleasure, or – she jolted away from him so abruptly it felt like a physical blow. _Gods, was she so starved for touch, so_ _deprived of solace –_ he watched sadly as she willfully deprived herself of his comfort, stubbornly rebuilding her stoic mask.

Tense, wanting desperately to take her face in his hands and kiss her tears from her cheeks, to erase her sorrow, he took a deep breath to steady himself as she extricated herself from his embrace.

She seemed shy, embarrassed at her outburst; she looked down, shied away from the intensity he knew shone in his eyes.

“Okay?” He asked lightly, releasing her from his arms and his gaze, looking toward the floor.

Humming low in her throat, her voice was thick but steady. “Yes.” She took his hand. “Thank you.”

C÷÷÷÷÷^^^^^÷÷÷÷÷C

They had finished eating hours ago. They sat together on her couch, lazily sipping tequila and talking about not much at all. She seemed content, peaceful.

She laughed at something he mentioned about his father, a joke about the defiance of teenagers. He smiled and ducked his chin, finding joy in her joy, happiness in her playfulness.

Her laughter quieted, replaced by a thoughtful, pensive expression; she was staring into her glass but he sensed she was suddenly far away. He reached for her hand.

“I lost my father a long time ago also.” Her voice was quiet, contemplative.

“I didn't know that. I'm sorry.” His heart stuttered at the sadness in her voice.

“I – my fiancé, my first fiancé, Justin, not Mark. He died in the same – the same accident.” She looked at him with eyes gone a dark, stormy gray, all traces of her amusement extinguished.

“It was my fault.”

Confused by her words, appalled at their implication, and grieved at the grim acceptance in her tone, he reached for her. She stood, twisting out of his grasp. He clenched his hands at his sides, frustrated, reluctantly giving her the space she wanted.

“No. It was. I was faced with a decision. I couldn't save them both, but found myself unable to choose. So I tried to – ” She paused, twisting her head in that distressed half-shake that always made his chest hurt.

“I tried to force a solution to save them both.” Her left hand was curled at her side, her other hand trembled over her brow. “I failed. I lost both of them.”

“I’m so sorry.” He was standing now too, unable to sit still, heart breaking for her.

“It was a long time ago.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, blinking back tears.

“I never got to say goodbye to either of them.” The tears fell then, silently, agonizingly.

Understanding swept over him. “But Ralkana got to say goodbye to her father,” he said.

They had left the Mokra behind weeks ago; he knew, though, that the death of that man, who had thought she was his daughter, still hovered at the edge of her thoughts.

She nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. She stepped toward him, their bodies almost touching, her hand nearly at his waist. When he remained motionless, her eyes flashed with uncertainty before it occurred to him that she was allowing – _No_ , his heart leapt into his throat, _she_ _was_ _soliciting_ – _she_ wanted _his embrace._

Breathless, flustered, and utterly _stupid_ with gratitude, he folded her in his arms, her arms wrapping around him, her cheek resting against his chest.


	12. Shiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Resolutions 
> 
> “I can't. I tried, and I – I” her voice broke. She whispered, “I can't do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff. That's all.

Shivering, he stepped out of the sonic shower. He toweled himself dry and sat on his bed. He held the towel wadded in his hands, staring blankly down at it. He hadn’t felt warm since they returned to Voyager five days ago. He missed the sun. He missed Kathryn. He missed her smile, her laughter. Her touch, warm hands, the freedom to reach for her, feel her hair brush against him, run his fingers through the gossamer curls, graze his hands over her skin.

His chest ached, stomach in knots. He hadn’t seen her for days, except for short glimpses during their bridge shifts; she spent almost the entirety of those secluded in her ready room. When they did interact, she had been withdrawn, carefully avoiding his personal space. She hadn't touched him, and had explicitly recoiled from his attempts to reach for her.

He sighed, resigned and miserable, and flung his towel over the chair. He pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and left his bedroom. He hadn’t slept in his bed since their return, hadn't slept much at all if he was honest; he missed the sound of her sleeping in the partition next to him, missed her scent surrounding him. He slumped onto his couch, heartbroken.

 _Get a grip,_ he thought, not for the first time. He put his head in his hands. Her choice was obvious with the distance she had been keeping between them. She felt further away than she had in a long time. He shivered again in the cold, sterile air, knowing his chill was from more than just the temperature aboard.

He closed his eyes, tears stinging, threatening to fall. His thoughts drifted, bringing him memories of her, no less cherished for their painfully unbidden assault. The watery smile she'd given him after he'd told her about the angry warrior. The way she’d welcomed his touch, allowed him to cup her cheek, brush the tear from her face, her eyes closing as she leaned into his caress. He'd run his thumb over her perfect lower lip; he remembered the overwhelming beauty of her eyes as she pressed a kiss to his thumb. His amazement as her fingers brushed his cheek, traced his tattoo.

His body shook now with the memory, as it had then, when her strong hands had threaded through his hair, so delicately inviting, drawing his lips to meet hers. He'd been helpless in her embrace, unable to stop himself drawing her body fully against his. His knees had gone weak when she’d wrapped her arm around him, deepening their kiss. Her tongue was warm as she'd granted him access; she’d tasted of coffee, of honey, of kindness and benefaction and of life, and _goddammit she'd tasted incredible, flawlessly fitted against him, perfect –_

 _“_ Chakotay.” His eyes snapped open; he hadn't heard anyone enter his quarters. He swept the tears from his face, looking up to see _her,_ arms wrapped around herself, standing a few feet away. She was the picture of misery, despair radiating from her slender body.

“Captain,” he ground out, “I – ”

“No,” she choked on the word, tilting her head in that distressed half-shake, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Please, no – not Captain. Chakotay, please.”

“Kathryn.” Her name was desperate, wrenched painfully from his throat, _excruciating_.

He flung himself from his couch, his tenuous hold on his self-control annihilated, _utterly_ _frantic_ to hold her. Stumbling, he fell to his knees, humiliatingly crawling the last two steps toward her until he was kneeling in front of her. He heaved a painful breath that dissolved embarrassingly into a sob. He didn't care – he needed her like he needed air, gasping, suffocating at her absence. He buried his face against her abdomen, hands desperately clenching in her uniform.

Her hands wound in his hair, pulling him against her, tears streaming down her face. Her body shook as she held him.

“I can't. I tried, and I – I” her voice broke. She whispered, “I can't do it.” She sank to her knees. She smoothed her fingers down the sides of his face. She dragged his head away from her body. He hummed despondently, nearly growling in protest, unable to force his body to let her go.

She pressed her lips to his forehead and pulled his head against her shoulder.

“I know all the reasons we shouldn't. I even believe most of them. I know it makes everything more complicated. And I tried. I thought – I thought,” she wept, pressing her cheek against the top of his head.

“I can't go back,” she whispered into his hair. “I can't give you up.”

He dragged in a ragged sob, breathing her in, collapsing back into a seated position, hauling her into his lap as he fell. Relief so profound it felt like salvation washed over him; _deliverance_ , contained wholly in the exquisite woman he held in his arms.

\-------

His legs had lost all feeling, sitting on the floor with her curled against him. He’d been unable to say anything, defeated by her admission, by her scent surrounding him, by the _rightness_ of her in his arms.

She started to stir, shifting in his embrace. “I'm, ah – "

“Don't you dare apologize.” His voice was thick with emotion.

She huffed a laugh into his chest. “No, I was going to say I'm too old to be sitting on the floor this long.”

He laughed despite himself. He kissed her temple and she leaned into him briefly before disentangling herself from him, standing. He suppressed a groan as the feeling returned to his legs.

Slowly he made his way to his couch. She replicated two cups of soup and handed one to him as she sat next to him. They ate in silence; he just enjoyed having her near him. He set their dishes on the table when she finished.

She snuggled into him. He put his arm around her, pressing his nose into her hair.

“I don't know how to do this,” she murmured into his still bare chest. Her hand traced a soothing, drowsy pattern on his bare skin. 

“We’ll figure it out.” His voice was muffled in her hair but he didn't dare move.

“Hmmmm,” She purred against his chest sleepily, eyelids fluttering closed with exhaustion.

He said nothing in response. Her breathing evened out and he realized she was asleep. Gently, heart bursting with contentment, he drew the blanket over them and succumbed to his own weariness.


	13. Glaciers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Basics I and II 
> 
> “I looked marvelous in my chair, huh?” She feigned indignation, pulling her other arm from the blankets to push herself to a half-sitting position. “Well, Commander, it's been 3 days since my last shower, I hacked off a chunk of hair with a rock, and I’ve slept 2 whole hours out of the last 36, both of them in the dirt,” she laughed. “How do I look now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things just got silly. But I had to have a break from all the intensity. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments. I appreciate them more than you know.

“What's that smirk for?” she practically snarled at him.

It only deepened his grin. 

“It’s good to see you back in your proper place, Captain. You look marvelous in that chair.” He had to duck his head to conceal his smile.

She huffed at him, but he saw the amusement in her eyes.

When they were certain repairs were well underway and the crew had gotten as much rest as could be granted under the circumstances, Tuvok demanded the two of them take at least 6 hours of rest.

When the doors of the turbolift closed, he was surprised to find his arms full of her. She didn't say a word, tucking herself into him, wrapping her arms around him.

“Dinner?” His voice was warm, happy.

“Mmm,” she murmured into him.

He snorted a low laugh and tilted her face to meet his. He pressed a small kiss to her forehead, still intoxicated with the idea that he was allowed to do so. She reached a hand to his cheek, drawing his face to hers. Her lips were soft, gentle, inviting. His hands drifted to behind her head, fingers brushing through the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. She shivered under his caress. He broke the kiss to marvel at her. She turned her head and moved away from him slightly as the ‘lift doors opened.

They walked into her quarters and she waved him towards the replicator as she rummaged in her desk. He met her at the table with a spicy pasta dish and she poured the expected tequila. They ate in companionable silence, both hungrier than either had realized.

He cleared the dishes and she took their glasses to the couch, pouring another two fingers in each glass. He settled into the couch next to her, pleasantly relaxed. She snuggled into him and he kissed the top of her head, breathing in her honeyed scent, wondering if he would ever have his fill of her.

“Good to be back,” she said softly.

Humming softly in response, his hands reached to unpin her hair. She rippled at his touch, making a small sound of pleasure as goosebumps rose on her arms. Weeks ago, he'd discovered how much she loved to have her hair touched; the knowledge distracted him daily when it was so tightly knotted against her head while she was on duty.

He massaged her scalp and she all but moaned against him. The sound coiled low in his abdomen, warmth spreading through his body. She was _intoxicating,_ pliant in his arms, unbearably beautiful.

She burrowed further into him, pulling his uniform shirt up and tugging his undershirt from his pants. He trembled slightly; she’d not been so aggressive before. He'd been happy to let her set the pace of their interactions, in no hurry as long as he was allowed to hold her. They hadn't done much more than kiss; they had assuredly _not_ stripped each other’s clothes off.

“Aarrggh,” he yelped, jolting as icy fingers ran up his chest.

She laughed, shoving her other frigid hand under his shirt to join the first. He howled again, laughing with her, squirming away from her arctic touch.

“Good Gods, woman.” Laughter bubbled from his chest. He looked over at her in mock accusation, absolutely captivated by her mischievous playfulness.

She giggled at him, body shaking with mirth. His mind reeled at the sight of Kathryn Janeway, _giggling._

“I was cold. Also, payback, for that smirk on the bridge.” She laughed, reaching for him teasingly.

“Oh, no you don't,” he snorted. “You keep those glaciers to yourself.”

She continued to giggle as he said, “Here, I'll help you warm up.” He pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and tackled her, pining her arms to her sides and wrapping her within it. He hauled her off the couch blanket and all.

She shrieked in surprise and squirmed, trying to free herself. Laughing, he carried her to her bedroom and deposited her on her bed. She snaked one hand free and grabbed his shirt and he tumbled to the bed next to her.

Still laughing, she pulled his head down to hers and grazed her lips over his. His head spun, reeling, as she deepened the kiss, tongue sliding hotly, dangerously, against his lips. He could feel her smile through the kiss as he surrendered to her mouth.

“I looked _marvelous in my chair,_ huh?” She feigned indignation, pulling her other arm from the blankets to push herself to a half-sitting position. “Well, _Commander,_ it's been 3 days since my last shower, I hacked off a chunk of hair with a rock, and I’ve slept 2 whole hours out of the last 36, both of them in the dirt,” she laughed. “How do I look now?”

He _knew_ she was joking, but her question caught him off-guard, mouth suddenly dry. He also knew she did not think of herself as beautiful; she certainly did not suffer from a lack of self-esteem, but considered her opinion on her own appearance an honest one. He licked his lips. They still tasted like her.

“Never, in my whole life, have I seen anything as magnificent as you.”

She snorted at him, dismissive, but he saw her cheeks color slightly. 

“No,” He said softly, cupping her face in his hand, raising it to meet his. “You are, and I'm not sure who convinced you otherwise. You are stunningly, exquisitely, _devastatingly beautiful.”_

“Chakotay,” she whispered, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. She looked away, uncharacteristically flustered.

“Well,” he smirked, “except for those ice cubes you call fingers. Those are just wicked.”

She gave him a small smile, and he pulled her against him, his back propped on her pillows. Her head lay against his chest, her hand on top of his shirt. He picked it up and kissed her palm, her wrist. Then he lay both their hands back on his chest. His kissed the top of her head, but realized she had already yielded to her exhaustion and was asleep. Although he was also tired clear to his bones, he relished the chance to just watch her, relaxed in sleep; it was a long time before he drifted off.


	14. Shake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post The Chute 
> 
> ** Trigger warning, mentions of rape**
> 
> “Tho.” She was suddenly struggling in his arms, pushing away from him.
> 
> ~~~~~~~

A low murmur pervaded his sluggish awareness. He stirred; his brain was slow to wake. The murmur became more insistent, and he abruptly realized that it was Kathryn, mumbling in her sleep. They had been sharing a bed regularly for three happy weeks; he'd discovered she was a restless sleeper, but she didn't usually talk.

He snuzzled closer to her, drawing her body to his and closing his eyes.

 _“_ Tho _.”_ She was suddenly struggling in his arms, pushing away from him.

"Star’hvliyt, kreth thet rhakam bret bret rhăçim dovay văhar. Veçok edikouv…” Her voice was distressed. “No – Tho!”

She was shouting now, crying, fighting him, her body tense, hands clawing at his.

“Kathryn.” He tried to pull her closer but it only seemed to increase her distress. _A_ _nightmare_ , he realized.

“Kathryn!” He let her go, not wanting to add to her struggle. A cold sweat broke over him, stunned, realizing she had been speaking Cardassian.

She curled away from him, hugging her knees, tears cascading down her cheeks.

 _What the hell?_ Icy tendrils of panic shot up his spine.

“Computer, lights.” As the lights came on, he put a hand on her leg, trying to wake her without adding to her distress.

She kicked out at him, her voice so low and malicious he actually lurched back. “Get your fucking hands off of me."

She continued to kick at him and he backed away. She was panting now, huge, gasping, desperate breaths.

“Kathryn,” he tried again, frantic.

She twisted and kicked, and threw herself off the bed. He dove after her but was unable to catch her before she landed with a painful huff on the floor. She scrambled to a seated position in the corner, heaving.

He stumbled around the bed, trying to get to her.

“Don't.” Her voice sounded much more controlled. “I'm here, Chakotay. I'm awake.” Her voice was dull, muted, as she struggled to cautch her breath. She leaned her head against the wall, bringing both hands to her mouth, closing her eyes. Her hands shook.

He reached for her again.

“Please, don't.” She didn't open her eyes.

He sat on the floor near her, terrified, confused, and miserable. Adrenaline still surged through him, body tense and twitchy.

“I'm okay,” she said, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks.

He huffed a humorless laugh. “Sure.”

“No, I am.” She opened her eyes to look at him, breathing returning to normal. She looked embarrassed. “Really, Chakotay. I'm fine.” She dropped her eyes. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” He looked at her, incredulous. “What the hell – ” He stopped short, taking a deep breath, adrenaline draining from him; he started to tremble at its absence. He moved a hand toward her leg.

Shifting away, she murmured “just give me a few minutes, okay?” Her body still shook.

He folded his hands into his lap, clenching them to keep from reaching for her. He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself steady, trying to calm his still racing heart.

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“I, ah.” She cleared her throat. Her hand rubbed at her temple.

“When?” he asked. “Who?” His head pounded, hands aching as they ground into each other; the effort to avoid touching her was excruciating.

“A long time ago.” She looked at the floor, eyes glazed. “Captain Paris and I were,” She swallowed hard, licking her lips before chewing at her bottom lip. “We were hostages at a Cardassian outpost.” It came out in a rush.

“We were both,” She paused, searching for her words. “Tortured. I was, - ”

Tears spilled down her face. She swiped, almost angrily at them. He was holding his breath, fury spasming in his limbs, his body shaking; he thought he might be sick.

“I was raped. Repeatedly.”

“Oh, Kathryn,” He whispered, his own tears falling, unable to stop them. His arms convulsed. She looked very small, balled in the corner.

“I – I, the, records were classified.” She looked to him, eyes clear, dark blue in her distress. “I've not told, uh, not told too many people.” She lapsed into silence.

“I guess, seeing Tom and Harry down there…” her voice trailed. He was unable to say anything.

“Intimacy has been a challenge for me. Since then.” Shame creased her forehead. “It’s often – I’ve – a lot of my relationships have suffered. Because – because of it."

She put her hand on his arm, tentative. He felt nauseous, nearly weeping, remembering her aversion to his touch early in their friendship.

“I'm sorry,” He choked out. “I'm sorry if I ever pushed you. I didn't – I wouldn't have – ”

“You never did,” She interrupted him. “Never. You never pushed.” She unfolded from the corner and tucked herself into his lap. “I treasure your touch.”

He did sob then, wrapping her in his arms.

“Thank you,” she mumbled into his chest. “For being patient with me.”


	15. Pull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Sacred Ground 
> 
> “I'm not broken.”
> 
> “I never said you were.”

_She was supposed to be sleeping._ Anger was still thrumming through him; no small amount of fear was behind it all, but he wasn't ready to face that yet.

_Concern for the captain’s wellbeing_ , he told himself, although he knew she would rail at him if she knew he was still monitoring her vitals. He couldn't help himself. The last time he’d stopped, thinking she was safe, she'd beamed back down to the planet instead of sleeping.

Then she'd walked into that _death trap_ and he had been certain he was about to watch her die. The thought still brought a cold sweat to his brow.

He looked back at his monitor. Her vital signs were normal, except she still was awake. It was early, only 1800 hours, but he thought she'd go straight to bed. He’d planned on sleeping in his own quarters, leaving her to sleep in her own, but now he was questioning his decision.

He jumped at the sound of his communicator. “Janeway to Chakotay.”

“I'm here Captain,” He responded, catching his breath.

“You can stop watching my heart beat on your workstation. I'm fine.”

“Agh, um, yes, Captain,” He stammered. “I'm sorry, Captain.”

“Chakotay,” her voice sounded tired, but he heard the appeal anyway.

“I'll be right there.”

C**--------**C

It was dark and surprisingly warm in her quarters when he entered.

“Kathryn,” he said, not wanting to startle her, making his way toward her bedroom.

“Over here.” She was not in her bedroom, but seated on her couch, wrapped in a blanket.

“You should be in bed. Asleep.” His voice was quiet. He put one hand on the blanket. She shifted and he immediately withdrew his hand.

“I'm too tired to sleep.” She looked up at him. “Also, I'm cold.” She pressed her body into his.

He put one arm around her, but still tasted anger in the back of his throat; _he shouldn't have come._

He gave her a quick hug and kissed the top of her head.

“I'm – I should go,” he said softly, rising from the couch. "I should let you get some sleep. You're exhausted."

“Chakotay – ?” Confusion and worry crossed her face.

“I'm sorry, Captain.” She flinched at his use of her rank. “I can't do this right now.”

“Do what? Sit with me?” Her eyes flashed, dangerous despite her exhaustion. “Sorry I'm such a burden.”

Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair, closing his eyes.

“What the hell, Chakotay?”

“Kathryn,” he said warningly, anger rising again. “Please. We're both tired.”

She curled into the blanket, pulled her knees up placing her forehead against them.

“Don't do this,” she whispered. “Don't pull away from me.”

“Kathryn – ” 

“No, see? I've ruined it again.” She said miserably. “This is why,” she looked at him eyes dull and brokenhearted, “this is why I don't tell anyone." She brushed tears from her cheeks. “You've been, you’re, reluctant, _afraid,_ to touch me. Every time, it's so guarded, when – when it wasn't before.”

“No. No,” he said, kneeling in front of her.

“It is. It has been for weeks, since that nightmare.”

“Kathryn, no. I just – I want to make sure, be certain that you – ”

“I want it, Chakotay. I want you. Here, with me.” She tried to swallow her tears, failing, and began crying anyway. “I want this. Us.”

“ _Gods_ , Kathryn. Of course I want this, too. I do. I just don't want to push you somewhere you're not comfortable.”

“I'm not broken.”

“I never said you were.” He was crying now too. “I just – I – I, it's not you. Gods, it's not you.” He pulled her toward him. “I was scared,” he whispered. “I just found you, and I thought I was going to lose you.” He wound his hands into her hair, pulling her tight against him. “I was so angry with you, for, for sacrificing, for risking your life, _my life –"_

“I had to,” she mumbled wretchedly against him. “I had to save her.”

“I know.” He kissed her temple. “I know.”


	16. Gentle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post The Q and the Grey
> 
> He shifted slightly to get his arm out from under himself. The movement pushed his face briefly against her abdomen, her shirt bunching under his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't write smut. Send help. 
> 
> Nothing explicit.

“Hrmph,” she exhaled as her body hit the wall, using her momentum to pick her feet up, tuck her knees to her chest, and push back of the wall, landing a solid meter away.

The disc whizzed under her feet and hit him square in the shins.

“Round Janeway. Match tied,” the computer said. “Ready final round in 10 seconds.”

“Do you need more time to collect yourself?” She teased him, panting slightly with exertion.

“Only if you do, Captain.” He smiled slyly at her. He loved watching her play Velocity, loved her indomitable competitiveness, her playfulness during a match. And he’d be a bad liar if he said he didn't enjoy how strong, how athletic and graceful her body was.

She continued to dodge the disc, but was distractedly keeping her body extremely near his, mostly in front of him. A few times she was so close he could smell the scent of her shampoo as she slid away from the disc.

At the last minute she dropped to the ground directly in front of him, rolling nearly between his legs as she phasered the disc, swinging it up at his chest above her. He tried to bob under it, but his foot caught on her thigh, disc spinning behind him, and he teetered for a moment, trying to keep his balance. He ultimately failed, disc smacking him in the back of his head, his body tumbling forward to land across her legs.

“Kathryn, are you okay?” Her body shook under his. He scrambled to get up, get off of her. As he rose, he realized she was laughing. At him.

“Round Janeway, Match Janeway,” the computer supplied helpfully.

“Ugggghhh,” He groaned in mock exasperation, panting, and flopped back down, not caring that he pinned her lower body to the floor. She could laugh all she wanted, but it was her own fault they were tangled on the floor.

He shifted slightly to get his arm out from under himself. The movement pushed his face briefly against her abdomen, her shirt bunching under his cheek.

Suddenly, her scent was everywhere. Her hip was bare, slick with sweat, his mouth centimeters from her skin. Her laughter ceased abruptly as his breath glided over her bare skin. She shivered under him and he felt a stab of lust rush through him; his mouth was full of her, kissing, nipping, suckling her exposed skin. His hand nudged under her shirt, fingers spreading over her ribcage. He lapped at her glossy skin and she let out a sigh that was almost a moan. His body reacted so intensely he felt dizzy.

He looked up at her, leaving a damp trail up her belly with his lips. She was half- sitting, breathtakingly beautiful. Her eyes were dark, pupils wide. She licked her lips agonizingly slowly, pulling her upper lip into her mouth before her mouth parted, quivering with a sigh.

His hand bunched in her shirt, his mouth continuing his slow worship of her skin. He kept his eyes on her face, watching her eyelids flutter; she did moan then, the sound so erotic he felt his control waver. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but all he accomplished was scorching himself with the smell of her skin.

He pressed his face between her breasts, over the top of her shirt, and kissed his way up her body, his tongue dipping into the hollow of her throat where a drop of sweat still pooled. He moved so his body was no longer pressing her to the floor, giving her space, ensuring she never felt trapped under him.

He nipped at her collarbone and she shivered, threading a hand through his hair. He kissed the side of her neck, and she let her head fall back, pressing her neck against his mouth. He groaned against her skin, flicking his tongue against her earlobe. She exhaled, humming low in her throat.

He was drunk with her scent, the taste of her staggering, overwhelming. He was drowning with arousal, ravenous for more. _More of her_.

Abruptly, he lifted his lips from her neck and she whimpered at the loss. He pressed his forehead to hers, stopping while he still had the willpower to do so. His breath came in ragged puffs. She panted at his lips for a moment. Then she kissed him tenderly, her lips soft, supple.

“You're so gentle,” She whispered into his mouth, tears in her eyes. Tracing his tattoo, her fingers stroked down the side of his face. He sighed and leaned into her touch. He kissed her palm, her wrist.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “I hated the thought of Q wanting you.”

She pulled back, looking at him with half amusement, half concern.

Pulling her into a hug, burying his nose in her hair, he muttered, “he would have given you things I never could.”

“Not this,” she said quietly. “He couldn't have given me this. You.” She kissed his jaw. “Us.” 


	17. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His heart ached for her, wishing he'd not let things get so out of control. Wishing they'd thought to talk about this before they’d gotten so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so far from anything I've ever even imagined myself writing. Since I do feelings better than filth, you get both. 
> 
> I only hope I haven't completely embarrassed myself.
> 
> Also, respecting boundaries is sexy.

The air was quiet, the lake peacefully clear. She was quiet also, her exuberance from earlier dimmed; she was calm, snuggled under his arm, head pillowed on his chest.

They had spoken little; he was too relieved to have her back in his arms, solid and real and whole.

She was stunning in a simple sleeveless coffee colored dress that flowed down to her knees and made her skin seem to glow. She had initially been so keyed up, and her restlessness had made him edgy as well. He had been profoundly relieved when she had settled against him; when he could reassure himself she was really here, really alive.

Her thoughts were a mystery to him, as they often were. He knew her well enough to know she held distress below her silence; could see it in the tremble of her smile, the sight lines around her eyes, feel it in the precision of her movements.

His hand caressed her shoulder warmly. She shivered against him, although the air was warm. He pulled her tighter against him, kissing her temple.

Turning toward him, she shifted until she was straddling his lap. He sat back, watching her, unsure, letting her look him over. Soft fingers traced his tattoo, moved around to thread in his hair. She pulled his head to hers, pressing her lips to his. He ran his hands up her sides, one tangling in her hair, the other bracing against her back.

She moaned against his mouth, the sound coiling low in him. She deepened the kiss, her tongue hot and sweet against his. His cock twitched in response and a wave of lust washed over him. His hand tightened on her hip and she shifted, pressing herself against his chest.

A low groan was ripped from his throat as she ground her pelvis against his. He was fully hard now, knew she felt it. Her hands pushed under his shirt, fingers cool on his burning skin. She moved her lips to his jaw, trailing kisses to his ear. His hand tightened in her hair as she sucked his earlobe into her warm mouth. She bit the skin just behind his ear and he bucked against her, eliciting a small laugh from her. Her fingers brushed his collar and moved slowly to unbutton his shirt. She pushed it off his shoulders and ran her hands down his bare chest. She bit him again and he growled, nearly suffocating with arousal.

“Touch me.” Her voice was silky against his skin, making him shiver. He ran his hands down her arms settling them both on her thighs. She paused then, pulling her body away from his. He dropped his hands, not pushing her, never pushing her. He studied her face, the flush on her cheeks, the arousal in her eyes.

Lifting herself from his lap she shifted and he let her go, deferring to her. In one swift movement she drew her dress over her head and deposited it on the floor of the boat. She was kneeling over his lap, utterly, stunningly naked, skin shimmering in the holographic moonlight, so dazzling, so incredibly _alive;_ he couldn't breathe.

“Touch me, Chakotay.”

His body began to tremble, tears suddenly spilling onto his cheeks as he reached for her. _Gods, he’d almost lost her._ A sound left his throat that sounded embarrassingly like a sob and he pressed his face into her abdomen.

His hands spread against her back, running up to her shoulders. He moved his head between her breasts, nuzzling against them. He brought his hands around to cup them, delicately smoothing his thumbs over her nipples. She moaned and pushed against his hands, sinking back down into his lap, gliding against his straining cock. Her mouth descended on his, hot and inviting and demanding.

“One of us is overdressed,” she murmured, a small smile on her lips, thrusting herself into his lap.

“Kathryn,” he panted, her playfulness overwhelmingly erotic. She kissed down his chest and she slithered down his body until she was on her knees in front of him, her hair spilling over her shoulders onto his thighs. She kissed his navel, working at the button of his pants. As she succeeded in unfastening his pants, she bit him again, on the skin just below his navel and he barely controlled the buck of his hips; his erection straining, desperate.

She slid her fingers under the waistband of his underwear, caressing his hips, massaging the tops of his thighs. She looked up at him, watching him as she pulled his clothing down, freeing his cock. She smoothed her hands back up his legs, rising from the deck until she knelt over him again, pushing her breasts against his mouth. Clutching her hips, he sucked in one taut nipple and she shuddered. He moved a hand to cup between her legs, sliding his fingers against her slickness. She threw her head back and moaned, her body jolting against his hand as he bit her nipple.

He slid his body lower, kissing his way down nipping at her hip, pulling her toward him. He kissed her inner thigh and she tensed.

He immediately froze, moving both hands back to her hips, withdrawing his mouth from her skin.

“Kathryn?”

She was very still above him. Her eyes were closed, but he sensed it was not in pleasure. He sat up, shifting her down onto his legs, concern tempering his arousal.

“I’m okay,” she said. “But – can we – ” She swallowed, shame coloring her cheeks.

“We can do, or not do, whatever you want,” he soothed, running one hand up her arm.

“I'm sorry.” Tears welled in her eyes. She let her head fall against his shoulder. “I want this. Really.”

“Okay,” he murmured. “Just tell me.”

She was quiet against him, he stroked her hair, massaging the back of her neck.

“No mouth?” He asked. She shook her head into his shoulder. He kissed her hair. “Okay.”

He scooped her up and set her on the bench next to him. She pulled her knees into her chest, curling into a miserable ball.

He picked his pants up off the floor and put them on. Then he grabbed a blanket from the boat’s tiny storage chest. 

She watched him, her eyes huge and sorrowful. Silent tears slid down her cheeks.

He returned, gently wrapped her in the blanket, and lifted her into his lap. He nestled her back against his chest, tucking her head under his chin.

“Is this alright?” he asked amicably, his voice calm and affectionate.

“No,” She said abjectly.

“I meant the blanket. I can get your clothes if you want.”

She shook her head. He stroked her arm, brought his hand up to massage her shoulder lightly.

“I'm sorry.” She shifted her body so she was sideways in his lap, head resting against his shoulder.

“Please don't be.” He kept his voice even, gentle. “It's not a big deal.” He kissed her shoulder. “I didn't know. But now I do.” His heart ached for her, wishing he'd not let things get so out of control. Wishing they'd thought to talk about this before they’d gotten so far. He was determined not to let her make this an issue; as far as he was concerned, it wasn't.

He kissed her cheek. When she sighed, he kissed behind her ear, lips moving slowly down to her shoulder.

“You’re so lovely,” he whispered against her neck. “You're beautiful and you take my breath away every day.”

“Chakotay – ”

“I was so terrified.” His lips brushed under her earlobe. “I thought I might never get to hold you again.” He couldn't keep the anguish from his voice; she lifted her head to look at him, seeming surprised at his confession.

“I just wanted – wanted to feel _alive,_ with you. To know I was really here, and you were really here.” Her voice wavered slightly.

He kissed up her neck to her hairline. She shivered, and he replaced his lips with his fingers, running them through her hair and over her scalp.

“And it was amazing. You are amazing. And you felt so good – ” She stumbled over her words.

“Kathryn. You don't owe me, or anyone, an explanation.” He kissed her cheek, and when she closed her eyes, he kissed both eyelids. “Ever. You said stop and we stopped.”

“Except I didn't. I didn't say it.” She opened her eyes, uncertainty softening the dark blue as she held his gaze.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “You did.”

“I – it’s just – how can it be that simple for you? What about what you want? What if I can't be what you need?”

“Too late,” he smiled as he pulled her head to his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You already are.”


	18. Chosen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Unity
> 
> He felt wrung-out, wired and exhausted at the same time; he wanted to take solace in her arms as desperately as he wanted to never see that bitter disappointment on her face again.

His hands shook as he ran them through his hair. He was restless, edgy. He got up off the couch to pace again. He ignored the door chime, knowing it was _her_ , and felt terrified; he didn't think he could endure the hurt and disappointment in her face a second time.

She came in anyway. He dropped back down into the couch, head in his hands, headache and heartache and self-disgust churning together to make him miserable.

She climbed onto the couch behind him. She was on her knees, legs wrapped around his hips and her belly pressed against his lower back. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades. He shuddered and she pressed a kiss to the back of his neck as her hands massaged his shoulders.

He felt wrung-out, wired and exhausted at the same time; he wanted to take solace in her arms as desperately as he wanted to never see that bitter disappointment on her face again.

Her hands continued kneading his stiff muscles. _How had he never noticed how_ _strong_ _her hands were? How had he forgotten how easily she moved around him? How good she felt, pressed against his body?_ It was too much and he knew it; her scent surrounding him, her kindness, her hands on him, her _godsdamned_ _forgiveness_.

“You’re so tense,” She murmured, her lips much too close to his ear. He reached his hands to his neck, stopping hers.

“My confidence in my own self-control is pretty low,” he said dully, shame twisting in his gut.

“My confidence in your self-control is impeccable,” she said quietly, but withdrew her hands anyway. She moved to sit next to him on the couch, careful not to touch him.

“I had sex with her.” He couldn't look at her.

“I know.” Her voice was steady, no trace of anger or pain.

“I chose it. I _wanted_ it.”

“Did you?” she sounded skeptical.

“At the time. Yes.” He bit out miserably.

“At the time. You mean when you were suffering life-threatening trauma and had undergone a Borg neural link that even a day later could force you to act against your will?” She reached out tentatively to cup his cheek. “I don't think it was your choice at all.”

He leaned into her hand, a tear tracing down his face. “I've let you down. I was irresponsible and reckless and – and gods, so gullible, so stupid.”

“Chakotay,” her voice soft but certain. “You are none of those things.” She stroked his face, wiping the tear from his cheek. “You’re loyal and helpful, kind, gentle. You have a beautiful spirit.”

He hummed low in his throat, reprehension tempering her warm words.

“Tell me what you need from me,” she urged him gently.

“Gods, I don't even _know,_ ” he groaned.

“Okay,” she reassured. “Let's start with one decision at a time. Do you want me to stay? “

His answer was immediate. “Yes.”

“Do you want me closer, touching you? Or would you rather I keep a bit of distance?”

“I, uh – I – ”

“There's no wrong an answers." Her voice was smooth, honey, warm and unbearably comforting. “We can come back to that one. Do you want to stay on the couch or move to your bed?”

“Couch,” He mumbled.

“Good. I'm going to go get a blanket and I'll be right back. Okay?”

He nodded, feeling pathetic and wounded.

She returned with two blankets and a pillow. She set them on the floor next to the couch, sitting next to him again, but not touching him.

“I'm not sure – I’m afraid if I hold you I’d – I'm not – ” he stammered.

“I trust you. Completely and without hesitation,” she emphasized.

She put a hand on his shoulder, scooting closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her, face buried in her hair; he breathed her in, aching for her like an addict in need of a fix.

“I hurt you. With Riley.”

“A bit,” she admitted. “At first because I thought you really had chosen it. Chosen her.” She kissed his neck. “She's very pretty.”

“She's not really my type,” he murmured.

She snorted a laugh. “Young, pretty, and blonde? She's practically my type.”

“And here I thought you preferred dark and mysterious,” he teased, grounded in her undemanding banter, feeling like his world had stabilized.

She licked her lips. “Oh definitely.” She kissed him then, her mouth delightfully warm and soft. He moaned despite himself cupping her face, emotions thrumming through him, desire, passion. Wonder at this amazing woman, at her capacity for good, for joy, for love.


	19. Tickle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Scorpion I and II 
> 
> She twitched slightly, laughing. “That tickles,” she murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's nice to hear you guys are enjoying this.   
> Here's a fluffy one. That's all.

“Dinner? My treat."

“Sure. Let me finish these calculations. I'll meet you in your quarters,” she agreed.

He was pouring drinks when she let herself into his quarters. She sat, raising her glass. “To us, surviving another day.”

He smiled at her, still unsure if she had forgiven him for going against her. It had been a busy week, he'd not seen her much. He'd been so conflicted; he knew she was disappointed in his decision, but she seemed at ease, even relaxed tonight.

They ate in comfortable silence. As he cleared the dishes to the recycler, she remained at the table.

“Thank you.” She poured another cider for them both.

“For dinner? Of course.”

“No,” she said slowly. “Thank you for standing your ground. For following your gut.”

“Kathryn – ,” he started.

“I've been thinking,” she continued. “I'm glad we can disagree and still be – be friends. I was worried that it might make us awkward.” She looked away, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “I don't want our professional decisions to – to change what we have.”

“I don't want it to either.” He reached a hand across the table, relieved when she laced her fingers in his. She was constantly surprising him, her grace, her integrity, her acceptance.

He brought their hands to his lips, kissing her fingers wrapped in his. She brought her other hand to his cheek, pressing her thumb against his lower lip. He kissed her thumb, then drew the tip into his mouth.

She made a small sound, a sigh of pleasure. He released her thumb, kissing her palm, then the inside of her wrist.

She twitched slightly, laughing. “That tickles,” she murmured.

“What, this?” He repeated the kiss, following it with a swipe of his tongue.

“Hey!” She laughed again, pulling her arm away, rising from her seat. He sat back, smiling at her, delighted.

Mischievously, she moved around the table and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. She poked a finger in his ribs, and he yelped. 

“Ticklish, Chakotay?” She smirked, repeating the jab, eliciting another squawk from him.

He laughed, catching both her hands in his, using them to pull her to him. She kissed him, lips teasing his, and moved her mouth to his neck, nipping him under his jaw. He squirmed and released her hands. She twined her fingers in his hair and brought her mouth back to his.

“I'm watching you, Devil Woman,” he teased, “and those treacherous hands.”

She laughed against his lips, grinding her hips into his lap; he couldn't stop his groan of pleasure at the contact. His hands went to her hips, pressing her to him, prolonging the sensation. She thrust against his erection; _gods_ , _she was intoxicating._ His hips bucked under her; he felt dizzy with arousal.

She grinned wickedly as she dug her fingers into his ribs again. He snatched her hands away from his body, yelping in mock outrage, laughing.

“You don’t like it?” she giggled, waggling her fingers in his grip. “Here I thought you liked me touching you.”

“Before tonight,” he snorted, “I loved you touching me. Now I'm not so sure.”

She pulled her hands from his, pantomimed pulling petals from a flower. “He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not.”

He swallowed hard, suddenly uncomfortable, her words skirting too close, _too close_ to emotions he wasn't sure she shared. Wasn't sure she _wanted_. She was still often a mystery to him, but he cherished their time together.

Still smiling, she snuggled against his chest, resting her cheek over his heart. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to her hair.

Contentment flowed through him, warm and sweet and _profound_. He wanted to hold her here forever; happy, playful, her scent surrounding him, her body curled against his, relaxed, the demands of both their jobs far away. A happy, comfortable sigh from her sent tendrils of warmth across his body.

“I love you, Chakotay.”

_Air. There wasn't enough air._ His heart skipped a beat, flopped painfully in his chest – he couldn't breathe. Shock, and a feeling not unsimilar to panic threatened to drown him.

He felt her freeze in his arms then her body began to tremble – suddenly he was painfully certain she hadn't meant to say it out loud. Oddly, the thought calmed him, allowed him to draw the breath that had been wrenched from his chest.

He held her tighter. “It’s okay. I already knew.” The truth in his words lay bare between them, and he realized he _had_ known. He was just amazed that she had said it, even if she only meant to say it to herself.

“So much. I love you so much, Kathryn.”


	20. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Nemesis 
> 
> “Not in your heart, Chakotay. What they did was in your head.” She held his arms tight around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this. I'm not sure I like it, but that episode messed with my head, I can't imagine what it did with his.

By the time he had managed to get back to his quarters, he was shaking, sweat beading on his forehead, running in cold rivulets down his back. He sank against the wall in his quarters, head in his hands. He swallowed hard against the nausea roiling in his gut.

Flashes of battles, people he cared about, deep hatred – _they aren't real,_ but his body still reacted. Tears of distress, agony streamed down his face.

“Oh, Chakotay.”

He jumped at the sound, scrambling away.

“It’s me. It's Kathryn,” she reassured. “It’s me, you're safe.”

Her hands worked at him, pulling him from the floor, removing his uniform jacket, then his shirt.

“Let's get you to bed.” She led him into the bedroom and settled him on his bed.

“I'm not sure I want to close my eyes.”

Her voice was soothing, familiar. She finished with his tank top and wrapped a blanket around him before working at his pants.

“I’m okay,” he mumbled dully. She worked his pants and boxers off his legs; his body shook.

She wrapped her arms around him, drawing him into a warm embrace. He pressed his face into her shoulder, inhaling her, trying fumblingly to regain his stability.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured against her.

She stripped off her uniform and climbed onto the bed next to him. He groaned and wrapped his body around hers. Strong hands kneaded his back, stroked his hair.

“Let me – I,” he fretted, restless.

“Just tell me. It's all okay.”

He pulled at her, turning her to tuck her back against him. His hands gripped her ribs, pulling her tight against him. Trembling, his hand stroked the silky skin from her belly up between her breasts, desperate to feel something soft, tender. He buried his face in her neck, letting her scent envelope him, ground him.

Her skin was velvety, warm and soothing. She was supple against him, relaxed. His hands roamed her softness, every stroke bringing him back to himself. The skin under and between her breasts was implausibly warm, and he continued to caress it reverently, helplessly seeking her heat, losing himself in the feel of her.

“I hate feeling so – lost”

“You're not lost. I'm here.” Her voice was reassuring. “You're safe."

“I can't – I don’t – I don’t want to be this person. I don't want to _feel_ these things.” He took a deep breath, pulled her closer, crushing her against his body. He couldn't get close enough, wanted to crawl inside her, to have her calmness and her love and her forgiveness become a part of him.

She shifted in his arms and he felt a rush of panic and self-reproach. He released her immediately, hands trembling.

“Oh, gods, am I hurting you?”

“Don't be silly.” She grabbed his hands, wrapping them around her again, holding them nestled between her breasts.

“I don't trust myself,” he protested, trying to pull his arms away. “I still feel – still hold violence, hate in my heart.”

“Not in your heart, Chakotay. What they did was in your head.” She held his arms tight around her. “I know your heart. You are light, gentle. Patient. Kind. Strong” She laced her fingers through his, bringing his hand to her mouth. “You have a beautiful spirit.”

“And I love you.”

A rough, painful sob racked his body and he tightened his hold on her again. He cried into her hair, running his hands desperately over her body.

“I want – " he ground out. “I can't – I’m – it’s too much.”

“No. It's not,” she emphasized. “Not if it's what I'm offering. I trust you, Chakotay.”

He groaned and buried his face in her neck.

“I don't even know what I want.” He was distraught, emotions thrumming through him. “I just want – I just need to hold you,” he decided. Exhaustion swept over him, leaving him jittery, unsettled. His body felt heavy, sagging into hers.

“There you are again,” she asserted. “There you are.” 

Her voice calmed him, her assurance that he was still here. If he hadn't lost her, maybe he could find himself again. He pulled her to him and felt fatigue pulling him under.

“I love you,” he murmured. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him.


	21. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Scientific Method 
> 
> She closed her eyes for a brief second, shuddered, and opened them again.

“How are you feeling?” Her voice still sounded tired. She looked exhausted; to be honest, she looked terrible. He was sitting on the biobed, getting used to feeling like himself again.

“Captain – " he started, then corrected himself when she flinched. “Kathryn. The doctor says you haven't slept in days. You should be resting.”

“I needed to know you were okay.” Her voice had an uncharacteristic tremor. _Anxiety_ , he thought to himself, _she’s anxious and angry, empty, depleted._

“I'm fine. Just about back to myself.” He smiled and reached a hand to her face. She closed her eyes for a brief second, shuddered, and opened them again.

“Good.” She patted his shoulder. “I’d better get back to check on repairs.”

“Kathryn, you should get some sleep.”

She shook her head; the half-tilt of disquiet made him worry. “I'm fine.”

“What's wrong?”

“ _Nothing_ is wrong,” she about snarled at him. “Why do you always question me?” Her anger erupted around him and he actually flinched.

“Okay,” he conceded, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay. It's alright.”

She closed her eyes, rubbed her forehead.

“I’m sorry, Chakotay.” A tear ran down her cheek. “God, I feel like I'm losing my mind.”

“Hey,” He took her hand in his. She pulled away from him.

She sank against the bed next to him, resting her arms on the bed, head falling forward. He put his hand on her shoulder; she shrank away from him, standing to pace, distraught.

“I'm too agitated to sleep. I can't – I can’t even sit still.” Her body shook, exhausted and jittery. “I can't – it won't stop. My head – my – I can't relax. Every time – I’m terrified to close my eyes.”

He didn't know what to do. He felt lost, unable to help her.

“I'll be fine." She looked at him, eyes shimmering. “I just need to check on everyone, then I – I, I promise, I'll get some rest.”

“Do you want – the Doctor said he’d release me in a few more hours. Dinner later?”

“No. I don't think I'd be very good company.”

“Kathryn,” he implored.

“No,” she snapped. Then she sighed, softening. “Thank you. But I think I want some time to myself.”

His heart ached for her, but nodded. “I'll see you in the morning, then. Sleep well, Kathryn.”


	22. Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Waking Moments 
> 
> “No.” His voice was quiet, certain, his heart breaking in the midst of her guilt. “Stop this."

He sank back into his couch. He was ragged with exhaustion but still found himself unable to sleep despite the late hour. He poured another whiskey, hoping the alcohol would force him to relax.

His door chimed. He rose to answer it. The door opened and Kathryn stood there, barefoot, dressed in flannel pajamas.

“Am I interrupting? The computer said you were awake.” She sounded uncertain.

“Not at all. Please, come in.” He was pleased to see her, although he wished she were sleeping.

She looked as weary as he felt. She’d been keeping her distance the past few weeks; they hadn't shared a bed or had dinner since they’d rid themselves of the “scientists” experimenting on them. She’d allowed him to comfort her when Kes had unexpectedly gone, but had not stayed. He missed her.

“Whiskey?” he offered.

She nodded and he poured her a glass. She downed it with her usual prowess, and he appreciated once again her flair for drinking.

They sat on the couch and she poured another drink for both of them. She snuggled into him and he released a breath his hadn't realized he was holding.

“I'm sorry – I – ”

He squeezed her shoulder and tentatively kissed her temple, praying she wouldn't put distance between them again. She sighed and he relaxed, pulling her more fully against his body.

“Chakotay,” she started again. “I've missed you. I – I got into a – a – " She licked her lips, uncharacteristically nervous with him. “I got messed up. My head – wasn’t in a good place.”

He kissed her head again, reached to run his fingers through her hair. She trembled at his touch, a small moan of pleasure escaping her lips, goosebumps prickling on her arms.

“It’s okay,” He assured her, continuing to massage her scalp. “I'm still here.”

“I started questioning everything. I was so – so _unbalanced_. Everything seemed – wrong, or selfish or – God, I don't even know. What was I missing, why did I have the right to be happy, when – when the rest of the crew – was – ” she paused, trying to collect herself. Her body shook against his.

“I couldn't get out of my own head,” She whispered. “I worried that – this, _us,_ was affecting my – my ability to be captain.”

“Kathryn,” he cautiously started.

“Did you know Tuvok thinks I'm reckless?”

He couldn't help smiling at that. She poured herself another drink, finishing it in one swallow.

“He also thinks, and I agree, that you're brilliant.”

She shifted to look at him, still unsettled. He kissed her forehead and she closed her eyes.

“You're too good,” she mumbled. “Too good to me.”

His heart thumped painfully in his chest. “Please don't say that." He pulled her fully into his lap. “Please. Kathryn. Don't – "

“Why, Chakotay? Why do I - " she stammered, “What right do I have to be – be – when I've dammed this crew – ”

“No.” His voice was quiet, certain, his heart breaking in the midst of her guilt. “Stop this." Not knowing what else to do, he kissed her. She froze in his embrace, trembling. She brought a hand slowly to his face, tracing his tattoo. Then she was kissing him back, opening her mouth to his, melting against him. His hands ran over her body; relief wasn't a strong enough word for what he felt.

“I love you, Kathryn Janeway.”

“I know,” she whispered, her voice faltering “I know. Thank you.”

He folded her against his chest, holding her until she relaxed into him. He lifted her too- thin body, carried her into the bedroom, and lay her on the bed. He climbed in next to her, wrapped his arms around her, and they both slept.


	23. Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Hunters
> 
> “Guilt is hard,” She said quietly. “It gets all tangled in everything, it lies to you.”

They were both a tiny bit tipsy when they left Neelix’s party. Kathryn had worried that the crew shouldn't see her drunk, and concerned they wouldn't have the relaxed fun they deserved with her there. Although he knew both assumptions were wrong, he acquiesced and offered to walk her to her quarters.

Their conversation earlier has made him worry, if he was honest. He knew she had tried to move on, the previous few years, but he also knew, from his own reaction to his letter from Sveta, that it was hard to face the actuality of loved ones moving on. Even if moving on meant they were all dead. He tensed at the thought, a wave of grief making his heart ache.

“Chakotay?”

He should have known he couldn't hide from her. They got to her door and she walked in. She turned, uncertainty in her eyes when he didn't follow.

“Um, do – do you want to come in?” She put her hand on his arm. He hesitated one second too long.

“Sorry." She looked sideways, dropping her hand. “I – goodnight, Chakotay.”

“No,” he decided. “I’d like to join you.” He forced a smile. “Especially if you still have some tequila.”

“Always,” she confirmed.

He stepped into the room. She surprised him by wrapping her arms around him. He embraced her and pulled her tightly against him, her warmth spreading through him. He tucked her head under his chin and buried his face in her hair.

“I'm so sorry about the Maquis,” she said quietly. “I know they were the family you left behind.”

His arms tightened around her briefly.

“But I'm – ” She squeezed him, pressing herself against him firmly. “I'm not sorry that you're here, instead of there. I can't be sorry that you're alive.”

He held her, taking comfort in her words, in her arms around him; he knew that he and his crew would have been killed with the rest of the Maquis, but it did little to erase his crushing guilt.

She pushed back from him slightly, looking up at him, fingers brushing tenderly across his cheek.

“I'm sorry if that sounds selfish,” she whispered. She kissed him, her lips soft and undemanding. 

“How about that tequila?” She extricated herself from his arms.

He hummed an affirmative, sitting on her couch. She handed him a glass and surprised him by only sipping hers.

She laughed at his incredulity. “I'm still feeling whatever Tom was serving us. I do need to be able to get up in the morning. “

He smiled and she nestled against him. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. They sat in silence, comfortably, both lost in thought.

“I think,” he mused, “I think I'm glad I'm here. Also.”

He kissed her temple, her cheek.

“It’s hard, though. This feeling of guilt, like I should have been there. Like it's not fair I escaped while they all – didn’t.”

Finishing her drink, she set her glass down and burrowed against him, wrapping her arms around him.

“Guilt is hard,” She said quietly. “It gets all tangled in everything, it lies to you.”

He looked down into her face, seeing her constant strain that he never could quite erase.

“It doesn't mean you can't have happiness, Kathryn.”

“Doesn't it?” She looked away.

“You know it doesn't.” He put two fingers under her chin, lifting her face back to his. “Just because you found joy doesn't negate the love you felt for Mark. Or still feel for him. It's still a loss, and you're allowed to grieve.”

“I never felt for Mark what I feel for you,” She whispered, sounding almost frightened.

He kissed her forehead. “I've never loved anyone the way I love you.”

Her cheeks flushed and she closed her eyes.

“After Justin died, I was afraid. Afraid of letting anyone affect me the way he did. Mark was – safe. Gentle. Undemanding. Unendingly respectful of my work. He always understood when duty came first. He never asked for – for anything.” She traced small circles on his chest. “I loved him, but I'm not sure I was ever in love with him. What he represented, sure. Safety, security, family.”

“You can still have all of that.”

She huffed a mirthless laugh. “We’re hardly in a position to consider any of those things.” She was stiff in his arms again.

“Kathryn.”

“No matter what I want, this crew, this mission – it _has_ to come first. My feelings about it, my happiness – it has to – it doesn't matter.”

“It matters to me. You matter to me.”

She sat up, poured herself and him another drink. She downed hers with her customary proficiency.

“Sometimes I wish – I wish I were just numb. That I didn't let myself get my hopes up just to have this goddamn quadrant trample then again.”

“Don't say that.” He pulled her tense frame back to him. She didn't relax into his arms. “Don't go there. Kathryn.” He kissed her forehead again. “This crew loves you – no, they do,” he affirmed when she tensed to protest. “They need you. They need to see you – deserve to see you happy. It makes them feel connected, and you are _phenomenal._ They feed off of you, and they’re at their best when you are.”

Tears ran down her cheeks; he brushed them away as they fell, fingers gentle against her face.

“Don't let the guilt take you away from them. From me.”

“How – how – I don't know how to let it go.” She lay her head against his chest, cheek over his heart. He stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head.

She was quiet for so long that he was starting to wonder if she'd fallen asleep.

“But I don’t know that I could stop loving you, Chakotay, even if Mark had waited."


	24. Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post The Omega Directive
> 
> “What are you talking about?” She was suddenly defensive; her voice far too sharp to allow him to believe she didn't know what he meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is not happy. Sorry. She's letting the darkness win.

_“No.” A chill ran down his spine at her words. “I will not put anyone else in danger, nor will I compromise security on this.”_

_“Don't do this!” he bellowed, fear and anger and abject terror churning in his gut. He felt nauseous._

_“I won't abandon you.” his voice was quiet._

_She turned away from him. “You have your orders, Commander.”_

_“Kathryn.” He saw her flinch at the use of her name; he tried to never use it when they were on duty. “Please,” he begged._

_“It’s my responsibility and I will take care of it my way.”_

_Gods, she was going to die out there, and there was nothing he could do. He wanted to fall to his knees, beg her to stop. Beg her to let him help her, let the crew help her. Instead, he found himself unable to move, unable to speak; he was choking on his own words, his stomach in his throat._

He bolted awake, sweating, shaking. Scrambling, he was barely able to make it to the bathroom before the nausea overwhelmed him; he retched until he shook with effort, exhausted. He sat back onto the floor, his head in his hands.

He heard her stir from his bedroom.

“Chakotay?” She sounded worried.

“Here. I'm fine. Back in a minute,” He called, still trying to catch his breath. He hauled himself off the floor and went to the sink.

He heard her mutter under her breath and then she appeared, crowding in the small room with him. She was a study in contradiction; the stern worry on her face was at odds with her rumpled pajamas and sleep-tousled hair.

Overall, he thought, it was rather adorable. He wished he felt like he could tell her that. Contrary to his dream, he still viscerally remembered the intensity of relief when she'd agreed to let him help her. The force of it had almost brought him to his knees then, and even remembering it now threatened his stability.

Since then, she'd been reserved with him. He actually been surprised when she’d not only accepted his dinner request tonight but had also agreed to stay the night.

She hummed in disapproval as she looked him over, running a hand through her hair, trying to smooth it behind her ear.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her question startled him; he was expecting to be able to brush her off, say he was fine, and go back to bed. Instead, he realized, she saw right through him.

“Not really.”

She narrowed her eyes at him slightly.

“Where do you go?” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

“What are you talking about?” She was suddenly defensive; her voice far too sharp to allow him to believe she didn't know what he meant.

“Every time we disagree. I barely see you. Sometimes for weeks.” He brought her body against him, but she was wooden in his arms. “I never know what you want from me."

She remained where she was, rigid and silent. He thought she might be angry, but there was a solid side of pain, too.

Awkwardly, he dropped his hold on her. She didn't move.

“I'm going to try to get some sleep,” he sighed. “Come back to bed, Kathryn,” he added when she didn't follow.

She curled on the edge of the bed facing away from him. He lay down next to her. He put his hand on her hip and she shuddered, her body still taut, drawing tighter into a ball. Miserably, he curled around her, pressing a kiss behind her ear.

They lay in silence. He knew she wasn't asleep, could feel the tension still in her limbs.

“I’m sorry,” She finally said. “I've never been good at asking for help.” She still didn't relax, didn't turn to him. “I couldn't let it destroy our way home. I couldn't let everyone down. Again.”

He didn't say anything. He didn't know what else he _could_ say. She was determined to hold onto her guilt, her grief. He stroked her hip, her belly.

“I'll try,” she murmured unhappily. “I will try. But, but I _cannot_ put my own safety ahead of getting them home.” She uncurled slightly; he pulled her tightly against him. “Sometimes I feel like I'm so scattered, all over this ship. I need time, to find all my pieces.” She rolled over in his arms. “It’s not your responsibility to keep putting me back together.”

He kissed her forehead sadly. They lay in wounded silence his hands caressing her back, her hair.

“You’re not alone,” he implored. “You don't have to do _any of this_ alone.”

“I'm sorry I’m not – what you need.”

“Kathryn, that's not what I said.” He felt a small surge of temper. “Don't twist my words just to continue to flagellate yourself with them.”

“I know I'm not easy to love.”

“Stop this.”

“But thank you for trying. For not giving up on me.” She kissed him then, her lips begging for his forgiveness. “I promise. To try.”


	25. Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Night
> 
> He sat next to her, sadly. “I don't feel that way. They don't feel that way. I wish you didn't.” He wrapped an arm around her, kissing her temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter dedicated to Voyagirl47 because I can't honestly believe that anything I write could be so appreciated. 
> 
> And because I love you. All of you.

He saw the tears in her eyes, equal parts relief and self-loathing; he watched her blink them back so they didn't spill down her face. He reached over and put his hand on hers, realizing that she was gripping her chair with incredible force; he wondered if it may have been the only thing keeping her upright. As he settled his hand on hers he reevaluated her mood; he hadn't anticipated such intensity, such tension.

She didn't look at him, stared steadfastly, _desperately_ he thought, straight ahead, but turned her hand to grip his with the same ferocity she had previously applied to her chair.

He squeezed her hand in silent support and felt her interlace her fingers with his in gratitude. He knew she was unlikely to look anywhere but straight ahead until she had herself more under control. Even then, she probably would not look to him first; she’d always been unwilling or unable to accept his concern in front of the crew.

He wondered if she'd ever turn to him first, to let him help. He knew she often wished for a counselor on board, but wondered if she’d take advantage of that benefit herself. He doubted it, and the thought made him sad.

He’d barely seen her in the past few months. It had been her choice, he knew, but looking at her now, he cursed himself for not pushing harder.

It suddenly occurred to him that they had a rhythm, a cycle, the two of them. She'd need him, but push him away; he'd let her, and then silently burn with heartache and anger while she tortured herself, until one of them couldn't take it anymore. In trying to give her space, he wasn't _available_ , possibly when she needed him to be the most. And maybe, just maybe, she didn't know how much he _wanted_ to be there.

“Captain, can I see you in the ready room?”

She flinched at his words, at his departure from their usual procedure, and gave him that injured, controlled tilt of her head; she still wouldn't, couldn't look at him.

He stood, taking her hand with him, and she closed her eyes, sighed painfully, and followed him.

The doors closed behind them and he turned and pulled her into his arms. She was tense, trembling slightly, resigned. She didn't return his embrace.

“Okay?” he asked.

“I'm okay.” She looked at him, her eyes stormy, sad. He brushed his fingers over her cheek and she closed her eyes.

“Thank you,” she sighed, not opening her eyes. He kissed her forehead.

“You're not alone,” he murmured, stroking her hair, her face.

“I didn't expect a mutiny.”

“They love you. It didn't take any effort on my part.” He desperately willed her to believe him. “They don't want to do this without you. Neither do I.”

She shivered, then suddenly crushed her body against his. With a jolt he realized she was crying. He held her tightly, heart aching.

“I was furious with you. On the bridge.” Her words spilled out through her tears. “I – I couldn't find my way out.” She heaved a painful breath, swiped at her tears, but they continued to fall.

“You're not alone,” he repeated, kissing the top of her head. “You just have to remember to meet us, meet _me,_ somewhere in the middle.”

She took another breath, calming; she sniffed morosely. “I, uh, I may be less okay than I thought.” She looked up at him. “Sorry. I'm,” She swallowed hard. “I couldn't – I can't find – ” She pushed herself out of his arms. “Me. I lost _me_ somewhere.”

“Right here. I found you. Here. With us. With me.” His voice was soft, encouraging.

“I'm not sure,” she disagreed, sounding defeated. “I found the captain, I can usually drag her up.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I failed at that, even, initially.”

She moved to sink into her couch. “I let everyone down. I wasn’t here, when you all needed me. I couldn't find enough pieces of myself to face you. To face what I've done. ”

He sat next to her, sadly. “I don't feel that way. They don't feel that way. I wish you didn't.” He wrapped an arm around her, kissing her temple.

“I'm sorry. I said I would try harder and I failed.”

“We both failed. I was afraid to push, afraid – afraid of you resenting my intrusion." He held her face in his hands; she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his. “I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere. Let me help. Let me share this.” He kissed her, a brief, soft touch.

“I love you. All of you. Captain, and Kathryn. You told me it's not my responsibility to put you back together. Shhh,” He said when she started to interrupt. “Shhh. It may not be my responsibility, but it's a role I want. I don't always know _how_ to do it, but please believe that I want to. Whatever you need, I _want to_ _be_ _that_. I want to be that person.”

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks. He gathered her into his arms, pulling her into his lap. He tucked her under his chin and held her, wordlessly, as she collected the scattered pieces of herself.


	26. Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post In The Flesh
> 
> He put his arm around her, bringing her closer. She turned, resting her head against his chest. She wrinkled her nose.

They sat in her ready room, reviewing reports, finishing a small meal. She was at her desk; he was working from the couch.

She rose, bringing him a glass. She held hers to his.

“To a successful second first contact.” She smiled as she sat next to him. He set down the PADD he was reviewing and shared the toast.

He put his arm around her, bringing her closer. She turned, resting her head against his chest. She wrinkled her nose.

“What's that look for?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She stiffened momentarily, then relaxed.

He laughed. “It's obviously not nothing.”

“It’s stupid.” She smiled, then turned serious. “I was anxious when you were down there alone. We couldn't get to you.” She wrapped her arms around him.

He kissed her temple.

“Well, Captain, you got me back,” he affirmed. “Very skillfully, I might add.”

“I almost – I was irrational with worry, and – ”

“And?” he prompted, curious what she might say.

“Hmmm,” she hummed, but didn't offer more.

“And, Kathryn?”

She wrinkled her nose again. It was adorable, but he didn't think he should tell her that.

“You smell like her. I don't like it.”

He laughed fully then. “Kathryn Janeway, are you _jealous_?”

“No.” She looked at him, amusement in her eyes. “Maybe,” She admitted, ducking her head.

“You never have cause for that.”

“I know you kissed her. She was very pretty. Young”

He took her face in both his hands, rubbing one thumb over her lower lip. She smiled and closed her eyes, a small sigh whispering from her lips.

He leaned in and kissed her, gently, but trying to put his whole heart into his attentions. She threaded her fingers through his hair and deepened the kiss.

She pulled back, smirking. “You need a shower.”

“Aye Captain.” He pulled her toward himself once more, kissing her neck up to her ear. She shivered at his warm breath. “Care to join me?”

She smiled slyly at him. “Well someone should make sure you get adequately clean, I suppose.” 


	27. Press

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Timeless

“Come to bed,” he pleaded from the bedroom doorway. “I don’t think you've slept in three days.”

She looked at him from the couch, eyes glinting in the dark of his quarters. When she didn't respond, he made his way to the sofa; she was curled, wrapped in a blanket. She looked especially small, delicate, and, he noted with a painful twinge in his chest, completely heartbroken.

He sat next to her and she leaned her head on his shoulder. He took her in his arms, rubbing one hand along her arm. He kissed the top of her head. She burrowed further into his embrace, pushing her body harshly against his. He tightened his hold, pressing her tense body firmly to his.

He held her until his arms ached from the force of it, until he was certain she couldn't breathe under the pressure, until he worried that he was hurting her. Still she pressed against him, trembling with the effort, as though he was the only thing holding her together, that she might splinter into a thousand pieces without his arms around her.

He said nothing, letting her take whatever she needed, wishing he had words to unbreak her heart. Instead, he held her solidly, enduring his own discomfort, begging the spirits to continue to give him the strength to comfort her.

“I don't – " Her voice was loud after the prolonged silence. She fell silent, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. She shifted, and he gratefully loosened his hold on her.

“You don't have to sit with me. You should go back to bed.” She ducked her head.

“No,” he murmured. “No. I want to be here. With you.”

She huffed a humorless laugh. “Are you sure about that?” She snuggled back into his arms, but with much less ferocity. “I'm not exactly brilliant company at the moment.”

“There's nowhere I’d rather be.” He glanced down at her. “Thank you.”

She pulled away, wariness in her face. “For what? Being a reckless, careless – god I almost killed us all,” she bit out harshly.

“Thank you for not hiding. For sharing this with me. I know how hard it is.” He stroked her hair the way he knew she loved. She sighed.

“You – I don’t deserve you. This.”

“That's not true and you know it, Kathryn.”

She remained silent. His hands moved through her hair and she closed her eyes. She shivered as her body finally relaxed against him.

Her breathing evened out and he thought she had fallen asleep; her whisper surprised him when she murmured "I love you, Chakotay. I love you, utterly, relentlessly, and beyond all reason."


	28. Forgive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Nothing Human 
> 
> “I don't think you made the wrong choice. I don't know if there was a right one,” he offered evenly. “Things are – different out here. Priorities. Needs.”

She kissed his forehead, one hand on his hip, the other pillowed under her head. She lay next to him in her bed.

“You're mad at me.”

He shifted, reaching an arm out and pulling her body against his.

“No.” His voice was quiet but firm.

“Yes. I know you are.”

He stayed silent. He kissed her temple and brushed his fingers through her hair. He _was_ angry, but he understood why she'd done it.

“Chakotay,” she demurred.

He only hummed, deep in his chest and buried his face in her hair. He vehemently did not want to talk about this. He didn't mind disagreeing with her. And he, oddly, truthfully, enjoyed most of their arguments, at least from the perspective of solidifying knowledge, exploring options, and having confidence that they examined the decision from multiple angles. Also, he secretly loved watching her when they argued; loved the flash in her eyes, watching her assimilate information, watching her consider ideas.

“Am I becoming too reckless? I don't think I would have made the same decision five years ago.” Her voice was low, insecure.

His anger suddenly dissipated.

“I don't think you made the wrong choice. I don't know if there was a right one,” he offered evenly. “Things are – different out here. Priorities. Needs.”

She pushed herself against him, seeking redemption, forgiveness, understanding.

“The worst part – the _worst_ _part,_ is that if our roles had been reversed, _I_ _would_ _not_ _have_ _let_ _him_ _touch_ _me,_ ” she practically spat, distress tightening her body. “I'm sick with it.” She began to tremble; he pulled her tightly against him.

“I’m losing the battle, Chakotay. Me versus this quadrant, my morality versus my responsibilities. My choices, reduced to the lesser of evils, when all the choices are horrifying,” she seethed in a desperate whisper.

“You had to save her,” he assured. “You made the right choice.”

“There was no right choice. But I still had to make it,” she whispered against his chest. “I don't - I'm not even sure what's right, what's wrong. I hated him. _Hated him._ ” She hummed dejectedly, low in her throat. “I thought I'd left this. I don't like me when – when – " she fretted. “I've worked so hard to not feel utter _revulsion_ toward anyone.”

“You feel how you feel. Feelings are not actions.”

She was quiet for a long time. He held her rigid frame, stroking her hair, trying to give her the absolution her soul was begging for.

“Thank you,” he rumbled into her hair. “Thank you for making the impossible choice.”

She twisted painfully against him, writhing with distress. His chest ached for her, his heart breaking in the depth of her anguish.

“I forgive you, Kathryn. B’Elanna forgives you.”

“What if I'm the one who can't forgive me?” she whispered wretchedly.

He gathered her more fully in his arms, kissing the top of her head, trying to wreath her distress in his unwavering love.

“Then I will forgive you for both of us. And love you, incessantly and immutably, until you can.”


	29. Damages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Counterpoint 
> 
> He felt her exhaustion, her profound misery, the accumulated weight of the past week’s damages; necessarily cruel, torturous days for them both, but unequivocally worse for her, even without how miserably, how unforgivingly, he’d failed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a happy chapter. I apologize. 
> 
> Dedicated to Erestorandfin, for somehow getting inside my head.

Sick. Helpless. Teetering on the verge of overwhelming panic. He could barely construct a coherent thought in the depths of his agitation.

He ran his hands through his hair. Again. He stood to pace. He thought he might have worn a permanent path through the short carpet of his quarters from the last week of pacing.

“Chakotay.”

The doors to his quarters stood open and she hesitated in the entrance. _Oh thank the gods._ Relief splintered through him, sharp as a blade and nearly as devastating; he thought he might collapse; he thought he might vomit.

“Kathryn.” Her name his whispered prayer, his desperate entreaty; his _whole_ _godsdamned_ _life._ He took her in his arms, unable to keep his hands from her body; she had to be okay. _She had to be okay._

She looked tired, withdrawn, but resigned. He reined in the absolute catastrophe that he had become over the past week; now that he knew she was secure, safe, he could focus again.

He took her face in both hands, searching her eyes. She sighed, running her hands from his wrists slowly up to his where they cupped her cheeks. She threaded her fingers along his until she had grasped both his hands, pulling them gently away from her face.

“I'm so sorry,” he choked on his words, the inadequacy of them threatening to suffocate him.

“Just hold me for a minute,” she breathed, laying her cheek to his heart, her voice so quiet he felt more than heard her words.

He felt her exhaustion, her profound misery, the accumulated weight of the past week’s damages; necessarily cruel, torturous days for them both, but unequivocally worse for her, even without how miserably, how _unforgivingly_ , he’d failed her.

It still sickened him, made his skin crawl, to remember the only time she'd come to him, the only time while Kashyk had been aboard. He'd been surprised at the time; she had been very specific in her orders that he was not to seek her out, not to interfere, not to hint that there was anything between them.

It had been late, he’d finally dropped into a fitful sleep; he had not slept much or well since they'd entered Devoran space. He'd bolted awake at the sound of someone in his quarters, scrambling out of bed, grabbing his phaser and hand torch.

He had found Kathryn, sopping wet, huddled on the floor of his shower in her tank top and black regulation underwear. He'd fallen to his knees, irrational with terror, dragged her out of the water; stripped her clothes off, wrapped her in a towel, and scooped her against his chest.

She had pushed against him then. He'd set her on his bed.

“I'm okay, Chakotay.” Her voice had been so raw, so grim, so damned sure of herself; he hadn’t believed her for a millisecond. “I just – I needed to be – clean.”

The truly cowardly part of him had begged him to not ask, desperate to protect his own heart; of course, in the end, he had been utterly helpless in the face of her suffering; he could no more ignore it than if she’d been bleeding out in his arms.

“You don't have to do this,” he’d implored. He had known the plan, known how far she was willing to take it to ensure the safety and well-being of their crew. Known at that instant that she'd been forced to take this way further with Kashyk than he'd hoped, _prayed_ , that she would. And he knew that it wasn't even close to over.

She had turned dull, resigned, almost cruel eyes to meet his. “We've been over this. I'm not discussing it again.”

“I will never not hate this,” he had growled, angry, horrified, utterly distraught. “Godsdamnit, _look at you._ ”

He’d regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. She had stiffened, pulling the towel tightly around her.

“Get me some clothes,” she’d seethed, her tone so cold he'd actually shivered.

He shivered now in remembering. She had not been back to his quarters over the next 8 days.

He had monitored her whereabouts, movements, vital signs, and yes, companions, via the computer. That had not been part of the original plan, but he had been desperate; she’d not said more than a handful of words to him after – after the night he’d been sure he'd lost her forever.

But she was here tonight. He had no words to express his gratitude, his spark of hope that he hadn't ruined everything between them. He lifted her face to his, kissed her. She broke the kiss, setting her forehead softly against his chin; and he knew, in that excruciating heartbeat, that he'd lost a part of her.

Despairing, but unwilling, _unable_ , to let her down again, he kissed the top of her head softly as he embraced her. She dropped her forehead to his shoulder. He threaded a hand to the back of her neck, through her hair the way he knew she loved, silently begging her allow him tenderness; he wasn't sure he'd survive without it.

“I shouldn't have asked this of you,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I knew it would be difficult, for both of us, but – ” She raised her eyes to meet his, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I had to make sure they were safe. I had to get them through this space. I had to. Please – please don’t hate me.”

He pulls her tighter into his arms.

“I hate this situation,” He pled miserably. “I could never hate you. Kathryn, I will never hate you.” His voice was low with self-condemnation. “I'm so sorry. I thought I could – I should have – gods, I'm so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she demurred. “I’m – I’m okay. And we're safe. We did it.”

“You did it. And I let you do it alone. And I will never forgive myself.” His voice was thick with tears.

“I forgive you, Chakotay. I understand.” She pulled away from him slightly and the distance felt like a hundred light years; his breath hitched as his heart splintered, completely devastated.

“Stay tonight,” he begged, needing her near him, wanting to repair what he'd damaged.

Her body tightened in his arms and she drew herself from his embrace. He didn't think his heart could break further, but he was so wrong.

“I don't – not tonight, Chakotay,” she whispered unhappily. “I need some time.”

He couldn't speak. Tears ran down his face. She reached a gentle hand to wipe them from his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the pain in her face, the pain in his heart.

“I love you,” he wept.

“I know,” she said mournfully, her voice barely a whisper. She kissed his cheek, despondent, and walked out of his quarters.


	30. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Latent Image 
> 
> At the sight of her he sank to his knees, a small sound of anguish escaping with his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Voyagirl47, because they can fix this, but apparently not yet.

“Computer, locate Captain Janeway.”

“Captain Janeway is in holodeck 2.”

He walked slowly to the holodeck, glad she was taking some time for herself. He felt a little guilty for disturbing her, but per her own order, the schedule surrounding shifts with the Doctor required her final approval.

He knew she'd likely continue to take the majority of the shifts. They were in a quiet region of the Delta Quadrant and if she wasn't explicitly needed on the bridge, she spent her time with the Doctor. He suspected she felt she was to blame for his current troubles, but he had not been invited into her confidence for several weeks; she'd spent her time alone, putting increasing, tortuous, distance between them.

His attempts to draw her out during that time had been politely but miserably rejected, his attention tolerated but not welcomed.

He was frustrated, unhappy, and agonizingly guilt-ridden; he knew he'd failed her, hurt her beyond what he ever imagined he could. He’d lost her trust, he felt certain, but desperately clung to his fragile hope that he hadn't lost her love.

He entered the holodeck into a quiet forest. His heart began to beat faster, painfully, as he realized he knew this place. _New Earth_. He began to tremble. He had no idea this program existed.

“Captain?” he called. No one answered. He moved through the forest until he came to the clearing that held their shelter. It looked exactly as he remembered it. He felt a slight apprehension as he approached, mixed with almost overwhelming curiosity. _When had she created this?_

“Captain?” he asked again as he entered the shelter. He realized his mistake the instant he stepped inside; his gait faltered, knees weak, the overwhelming memories hitting him hard, suddenly and viscerally. The entire space, full of _them;_ her equipment, his projects, the faint ozone smell of the atmosphere mixing with a clean, honeyed scent that was exclusively Kathryn. She was here.

He braced himself against the entrance, dizzy, trying to calm his racing heart, to stop the agonizing onslaught of memories, to just stay upright. _Breathe,_ he told himself. _Just breathe. It's only a holoprogram._ He sucked in a heaving breath. Another. A third, less desperate.

Feeling a little more stable, he wandered through to the sleeping partitions, where he found her. At the sight of her he sank to his knees, a small sound of anguish escaping with his breath. She was asleep, curled around a pillow, one of _his_ pillows, on what had been his bed. Her smeared mascara delineated obvious tear tracts on her cheeks. She looked so small, defeated and miserable, as though she was tormented even while she slept.

He felt the familiar ache to take her in his arms, tears streaming down his face. _Gods, how did they get to this?_ He knew, though, that it was utterly his fault, his weaknesses, that had led them here. In his fumbling attempt to protect her, to protect himself, he had pushed them both into this wretchedness.

He reached a hand to brush a lock of her hair from her face; she was exquisitely beautiful, even in her sorrow. She shifted slightly and he withdrew his hand, not wanting to wake her, knowing she needed this rest. He tensed as she caught his hand and pulled it into the pillow under her head, snuggled against his arm. A small surrendering sigh released with her exhalation, still asleep, and her face relaxed; his heart broke all over again.

All he wanted was to climb in beside her, to give and receive the comfort they both desperately needed, to rebuild their connection, to kiss her tears away. Ultimately, he stayed on the floor, unwilling to push past the distance she had enforced while awake.

He sat with her for several hours while she slept, seeking redemption, forgiveness, and nurturing the small hope that had blossomed as she took comfort, although unconsciously, from his presence. For the first time in weeks, he felt a tiny spark of optimism that he could repair this unbearable chasm between them.


	31. Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post The Disease
> 
> “I was too hard on Harry. I took it personally.” She persisted in looking into the glass in her hands. “He asked me if I'd ever been in love. If I'd ever - lost it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Thank you to everyone for your amazing comments. I've been working nights and I've been so tired I wasn't sure this was any good. 
> 
> We'll get to a better place soon, but apparently not yet. ❤

They were finishing dinner. He had been relieved when she’d agreed to resume weekly dinners, even under the pretense of discussing ship's business. It was convenient, he’d argued, as they both had to eat, and in the end, she couldn't deny that it was a reasonable use of their time.

Their meals had been all business. She had been distant and reserved, ignoring his attempts at any personal inquiries. He had not agreed with her decision regarding Harry, but he had not pushed. It seemed a little too intimate, too close for him, and, he sensed, for her.

He cleared the dishes to the recycler. She hadn’t moved to leave yet; usually she would have been on her way out his door as soon as they were finished eating.

“Whiskey?” he offered hopefully.

She studied him silently, caution and distress in her face, eyes vaguely haunted.

“Or tea?”

“I should probably go.” Her voice was carefully flat. He turned away from her so she wouldn't see his disappointment; he knew he couldn't keep it off of his face.

“Stay,” he mumbled miserably. He needed her – needed her to stay if he was ever going to repair this. After the other night in the holodeck, he was certain she needed him too, even if she could talk herself out of it most of the time.

“All right,” she said slowly.

“Sit with me,” he offered, assuming a nonchalance he didn't feel. He gestured toward the couch.

She cleared her throat, but stood and walked slowly to the couch. Perching tensely on the edge, she glanced up at him. She looked tired. Her skin was pale, nearly translucent in the low light, stress and exhaustion creasing her forehead, unforgiving dark circles under her eyes. Still she was beautiful, and he wanted to tell her, wanted to hold her, wanted to give the solace he knew she needed.

“I – ah, I'll take that whiskey.” He ignored the tremor of uncertainty in her tone.

His hands shook with a dizzying mix of relief and fear as he poured two drinks and joined her on the couch. She accepted the proffered glass and took a small sip.

They were silent. He was fighting the urge to just fall at her feet and beg – for her forgiveness, for her time, for the end of – of whatever this was between them. She stared down at the drink in her hands, but he knew her better than that; he caught the tiny glances out of the corner of her eye, knew she was assessing him, trying to prepare, to defend herself against whatever threat she thought he might pose.

“Why tonight?” He kept his voice calm, light.

“Why what tonight?” she asked, confused, wary.

“Why did you agree to stay? After we finished eating, I mean.”

She was quiet for a long time. He sipped his drink silently, giving her time to collect her thoughts. He was just coming to terms with the fact that she wasn't going to answer when she said, “You were right.”

She took another sip of whiskey before continuing.

“I was too hard on Harry. I took it personally.” She persisted in looking into the glass in her hands. “He asked me if I'd ever been in love. If I'd ever - lost it.”

“Kathryn.”

She turned to him then, and he was devastated at the sheer unmitigated pain in her eyes; a single tear slipped down her cheek. Her lower lip trembled and she drew it into her mouth as she struggled for control. Her nose crinkled, jaw clenched, lips pursed in a tight frown of wretchedness; she was the embodiment of pain and misery.

“Have I? Lost it, I mean?”

He shook his head, words failing him. His heart was in his throat, his breath stuttering, choking on his own grief, his guilt. Unable to stop himself, he reached a hand toward her, gently peeling her fingers from her unfinished drink, setting the glass on the table, and grasping her clenched hands with one of his. Slowly, cautiously, he raised his other hand toward her face, giving her ample time to understand, praying she wouldn’t pull away; giving her the space to do it even though it would break his heart. She flinched so slightly he might have missed it had he been moving with any less vigilance; he paused, but when she didn't turn away he resumed, cupping her cheek with excruciating carefulness, delicately brushing her tear away with the his thumb.

She closed her eyes. Another tear escaped from between her eyelashes. He watched her mouth tremble as she fought for control and heard her painful sob as she failed, her face crumpling in anguish as she finally, _finally_ leaned into his touch. She turned her face into his palm, as if to hide her suffering.

He heaved a breath, suddenly realizing he'd been holding it, and reached to pull her against him. She was unresisting but did not return his embrace.

“I can't – I can't do this.” She brought a hand up to rub at her temple, then to swipe at the tears still scattered on her cheeks.

“I love you.” He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, stroking her hair, memorizing every detail of her; he hadn't had her in his arms for weeks, was terrified he might not have the chance again. “I miss you.”

“It’s – I'm not – I’m sorry, Chakotay. I'm so so sorry.” She lay her head miserably against his chest, tears soaking through his shirt. “I don't know,” she choked, “I don't know if I’m strong enough to do this.” Suddenly she pushed against him, extracting herself from his arms.

“Whatever you need. Please, let me be whatever you need.” He reached for her cheek again and she backed away. He dropped his hand, despondent. She rose to leave.

“I just need time,” she whispered. Then, as she walked to the door, so quietly he wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it, “I miss you, too.”


	32. A thousand times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post The Fight 
> 
> “I didn't understand, before,” she started, “even though I said I did.” Her eyes held his, large and luminous in her stark face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show me the meaning of being lonely. Is this the feeling I need to walk with? Tell me why I can't be there where you are. There's something missing in my heart.
> 
> \- Herbert St Clair Crichlow / Martin Max
> 
> For Voyagirl47, for healing and comfort, and these idiots and their selfish self-sacrifice.

He rolled over again, but remained tense, agitated. He couldn't get the fight, the confusion out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes, flashes of words, people, punches filled his head, loud shouting, whispers, so much noise. He groaned, pushing his hands into his eyes. He pressed his head into his pillow but found no relief.

The bed dipped behind him; a warm body pressed to his back, her scent washing over him, honey and coffee and benevolence. A bitter sob was wrenched from his throat and he shifted, rolling into her warmth, clutching her body to his, helpless with his need to hold her. Heaving a desperate breath, he crushed his face into her chest and felt the first flicker of solace, of calm, that he'd had in days. Perhaps weeks. She was _here,_ and it was _right,_ and he was never going to let go. He felt his heart begin to piece itself back together.

“Oh Chakotay, I'm so sorry.” Her voice was rough, cracking with remorse; still, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. She wrapped herself around him fully, laying her cheek against the top of his head.

They lay silently, taking the comfort both had needed for so long. He felt her warm tears in his hair, felt her small body tremble in his arms. _When had she gotten so thin?_

He raised his head to look at her, raised one hand to her cheek. She closed her eyes at his touch, tears spilling down her face. He brushed his fingers against her cheekbone, her jaw; all traces of rounded softness absent. She was all angles, sharp and gaunt, and _too thin._

“I didn't understand, before,” she started, “even though I said I did.” Her eyes held his, large and luminous in her stark face.

He looked at her questioningly.

“Having to watch you do – go through this. It was – was _necessary_ , but I _hated_ it. Hated that my only option was to – to let you suffer.” She kissed his forehead, his temple. His tattoo. “I kept thinking I'd rather give up, rather die myself, than let you continue.” She traced a hand over his cheek. “But I'm not the only one I have to worry about."

“I'm losing, Chakotay. I can feel myself, slipping away.”

He kissed the tears from her face, gently brushing a lock of hair away.

“No,” he murmured, lacing his fingers carefully, reverently through her hair; she closed her eyes again at his touch, the strain relaxing from her face as she allowed herself to succumb to his comfort.

“I’m sorry I wasn't there. To help you through this,” she fretted.

“You’re here now.” He felt her relax against him fully and he pulled her against him with one arm, warm, solid, his other hand continuing to massage her hair. He kissed her forehead and tucked her against his chest.

“A thousand times, Kathryn” he vowed. “I’d go through that a thousand times, if it meant I got to hold you at the end of it.”


	33. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Equinox I and II 
> 
> “If there's one thing I understand, it's anger. Revenge” He pressed his lips to her hair. “I know how easy it is to get lost in it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beating of my heart is a drum, and it's lost, and it's looking for a rhythm like you.  
> You can take the darkness at the pit of the night, and turn into a beacon burning endlessly bright. -James Richard Steinman

It had been a long week of double shifts to get repairs finished. He made his way to his quarters, looking forward to a hot shower and his bed. Upon entering his quarters he began stripping off his clothes. He stepped into his living area shirtless and began taking off his pants when he heard a low chuckle and froze.

“Don't stop on my account.” Her words were teasing but her tone was not. She was sitting in the chair next to his couch, in forest green leggings and a charcoal scoop- necked sweater that accented her pastel skin and showed a generous expanse of her beautifully freckled chest. There was a slight flush to her cheeks and her neck.

“Would you like a drink, Commander?” He saw the tequila bottle next to her and as he got closer, suddenly realized she was drunk. He put his shirt back on, feeling uncomfortably exposed; she seemed ready to battle and he could use all the armor he could get. Her words were not slurred, but were carefully and forcefully measured; he bet it was sheer force of her considerable will that made her sound so clear-headed. Judging by the bottle, she was nearly ¾ through it herself.

“It certainly looks like I have some catching up to do,” He answered easily, belying his unbearable worry. He’d seen her drink vast quantities without becoming more than slightly tipsy. He wondered if this was the first bottle. He poured himself a glass, settling on the couch near her, but did not return the bottle to her.

“I apologize, Commander.” He frowned at her use of his rank. She stared at her hands, wringing them in her lap.

“Apology accepted, Captain.”

He didn't miss her own flinch at her rank. He was rapidly becoming more concerned.

“Repairs are nearly finished,” he added mildly.

“Good, thank you,” she nodded dully. She still hadn’t met his eyes.

“How are you?” Her voice was quiet, but still held a note of forceful discipline, each word deliberately enunciated.

“Tired. But I'm fine, Captain.” He reached out to lay a hand on her arm. “How are you?”

She looked up at him then, eyes stormy, matching the gray of her sweater. She huffed a mirthless laugh and raised an eyebrow. “I guess that's the question of the week, huh?” He sensed her control slipping; her words were hard, splintering and unruly.

He felt they were teetering on the edge of – of what, exactly, he didn't know.

“Kathryn,” he begged.

He watched a tear spill down her cheek. She waved a hand dismissively in the air. “Kathryn is dead.” She looked away.

"No." It was more breath than a word. Cold panic swept over him, the worry that had been aching in his chest blooming into an excruciating terror that left him hollow and violently unsteady. He tried to rise but his limbs wouldn't respond. He felt hot tears on his face.

“There's nothing left of her here.” She handed him a PADD. “I thought I might find her at the bottom of this bottle, but – " she slurred, rising, stumbling; she attempted to catch herself on the back of the chair but his arms caught her first.

“I don't want your pity, Chakotay. Just get them home.” She pushed away. “I'm turning command over to you.”

“You know I won't let you do that.” He closed his arms around her. She sagged awkwardly against him and he wondered, briefly, if she was sober enough to actually walk out the door if he let go.

Her hands grasped at his shirt; he couldn't tell if she was trying to push him away or if she was trying to keep her balance. She was shaking and in the end he decided it didn't matter and hauled her small body into his as he folded them onto the couch.

She strained against his arms, nearly writhing, finally pressing herself into him, face mashed against his shoulder. He brought a hand to the back of her neck and began to massage, fingers tangling in her hair.

“How are you okay with this? With me?” she implored, mumbling wretchedly against his skin.

“If there's one thing I understand, it's anger. Revenge” He pressed his lips to her hair. “I know how easy it is to get lost in it.”

She lay against him, silently, tears soaking his shirt. He stroked her hair, letting her work through herself.

“How do you find your way out?” she finally whispered.

He didn't have a good answer, and suspected she didn't really expect one. He kissed her forehead, thumbs gently wiping the tears from her cheeks. “We’ll get there. We’ll be okay,” he assured her.

“I don't know if I'll ever be okay with this.” She wrapped her arms around him, hunched miserably into him. “With what I've done.”

“It was – not your best judgment. But I understand. Everyone understands.”

She shook her head against his chest. “I've never – I’ve always had a – a hard time with my temper, but it's been _years_ since I've been that angry. I didn't even recognize myself.” She glanced up at him. “I don't even know myself, now, anymore. This mission, these – challenges. I'm so tired, Chakotay. I'm just so – tired.”

“I know,” he soothed, gently, lovingly, cupping her cheek. She sat up, leaning into his hand, swaying slightly.

“God, I'm drunk,” she scoffed, her tone tinged with embarrassment. “I'm sorry. I just wanted to feel something, or maybe – nothing. Or just – different.”

Unsure, feeling helpless, he leaned down and kissed her, tasting tequila on her lips. She unfolded slightly from his lap, deepening the kiss as she brought her hands to his face.

She broke the kiss, holding his head, fingertips tracing his cheeks, his tattoo. “I love you, wholly, immeasurably – you are so _obscenely_ vital – I couldn't, I don't – ”

“Stay,” he interrupted, “stay, tonight.”

“I shouldn't. I've wasted enough of your time. Indulged enough of my selfishness for tonight.” She extracted herself from his lap, stood, hesitating as she found her balance.

“Kathryn,” he admonished. “It’s not selfish to want comfort. And I'm offering.” He rose to steady her. “Stay,” he repeated, “please.”

She shook her head and nearly lost her balance. He caught her and, decisively, scooped one arm under her legs, collecting her against his chest. She lay her head on his shirt in surrender, heaving a resigned, exhausted sigh. He walked into the bedroom and deposited her onto his bed. He finished undressing and climbed in beside her. He curled his body around her, pressing his lips against her neck.

“I don't deserve you,” she mumbled sleepily.

“Shhhh. Sleep.”

She hummed in response, already skimming the edge of sleep.

“I love you, Kathryn,” he whispered into her hair as he felt himself giving in to his own exhaustion.


	34. More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Barge of the Dead 
> 
> “I just got here. Ripping my clothes off already?” her voice was quiet but thick with sarcasm.
> 
> He chuckled and kissed her behind her ear as he continued to stroke her shoulders. “I'll take what I can get,” he teased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fluff. They earned it. 
> 
> For SereneVenus. We all needed a break from the intensity.

He knew she would come even though they hadn't specifically discussed it. She'd commed him to let him know B’Elanna was okay and he thought he voice had a strange hitch, an odd quality to it, but was honestly just relieved.

They had discussed at length B’Elanna’s decision; she had been adamantly against it and he had argued in favor of the spiritual quest. Eventually she had agreed that it was unfair to prevent B’Elanna from her attempt. He knew it had made Kathryn very uncomfortable to risk the life of any member of her crew; she loved them all so much.

She entered without ringing the door chime. He rose from the couch and met her as she trudged toward him. She did not stop until she had altogether walked into him, silently pressing herself against him, and lay her forehead on his shoulder in exhaustion. His arms folded her to him and she sighed as she slumped into his support.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, bringing a hand up to her hair.

“Mmmmm,” she mumbled, shaking her head against his shirt.

“Headache?” he began massaging the back of her neck.

She didn't answer, but melted a bit at his touch. He led her to the couch and she all but fell into it. He scooted in behind her and set both hands on her neck.

Her head dropped to her chest and she made a small sound of pleasure. He reached around and unzipped her jacket. She shrugged it off and he rubbed her shoulders, her back.

“I just got here. Ripping my clothes off already?” her voice was quiet but thick with sarcasm.

He chuckled and kissed her behind her ear as he continued to stroke her shoulders. “I'll take what I can get,” he teased.

“Keep doing what you're doing and you can have whatever you want.”

He laughed again, happy to have her relaxed in his hands. He knew how distressed she had been at the idea of losing B’Elanna.

“We almost lost her,” she breathed. He stopped his massage and wrapped his arms around her, crossing them over her chest and shifted his cheek against hers. She reached both hands up and lay them against his forearms, sinking into his embrace, her head falling back against his shoulder. “It felt like losing my child.”

“You're more than a captain to her. To all of them.” He kissed her temple. “I'm glad she's okay.”

She turned in his arms and kissed him. “And to you?” she purred against his lips, breath warm and sweet.

“Definitely more than Captain.”

“Good.” She kissed him again. She turned more fully toward him and wrapped a hand in his hair, deepening the kiss. He couldn't stop a small groan as she slid her body against him.

She hummed as she broke the kiss. “I need a shower.”

“Okay,” he said, his agreement at odds with his hands, which held her face and brought her lips back to his. He kissed her again, one hand on her cheek and the other smoothing down her side, over her ribs and down to hold her hip.

She smiled into his mouth and returned his kiss, unfolding to straddle him. He moved his hand from her face, stroking down her neck to her breast under her shirt. She pushed into his hand with a soft sound that made his heart race. _Gods, she was exquisite._

“Shower,” her voice low with arousal. She licked his jaw and then bit him. “Join me?”

He hummed his agreement. She stared to climb off him, but he held her hand as she stood. She looked at him questioningly.

“I love you.”

“Well, then, come show me how much,” she smirked, pulling her hand out of his and walking to the shower.


	35. Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post The Voyager Conspiracy 
> 
> She shook her head, never taking her eyes off his face. “You’re not serious.” Her voice quavered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Erestorandfin. I'm not sure if it's dark yet or not. It's a risk. I hope it's okay. Love you! 💘

He woke slowly, warm, tangled in the blankets and surrounded by her; her head on his chest, her hand on his hip, her scent everywhere. He thought perhaps he'd never been so happy.

She stirred, a small sound of contentment as she burrowed against him. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and hugged her closer to his body.

The space Voyager had been traveling through had been quiet, enough they had felt comfortable both taking the day off-duty. They had talked late into the night before she had fallen asleep snuggled into his arms. He’d taken her to the bed and watched her sleep for a long time. He loved to watch her while she slept; she was relaxed in sleep a way he rarely saw while she was awake, impossibly beautiful and surprisingly cuddly.

He nuzzled the soft spot behind her ear. She stretched her neck to give him more access and moaned as his hands threaded through her hair. He loved her sleepy and still so responsive. She turned then, and brought a hand to his face, pulling him into a kiss.

 _The rest of my life,_ he thought. _I want this for the rest of my life._

“Marry me,” he whispered against her mouth.

“What?” She sat up suddenly, eyes wide.

He reached a hand to cup her cheek. “I love you. Marry me.”

“Chakotay,” she stammered, pulling away from him and scooting into a ball on her side of the bed. Her body shook and she wrapped her arms around herself, alarm in her eyes.

“Kathryn.” He kept his voice soft, disconcerted at her response.

She shook her head, never taking her eyes off his face. “You’re not serious.” Her voice quavered. She cleared her throat.

“I am. I love you and I – "

“It hasn't been 24 hours since we both thought we were betraying each other,” she interrupted him. She got out of bed, pacing, panicking. “We don't know what challenges we'll face, how it will change us, how it might drive us apart – how it might – how _dangerous –_ ” She floundered, agitation making her movements frantic.

“We’ve gotten through everything so far. We can get through the rest.” He caught one of her hands in his. She stared at their joined hands for a second. He tried to pull her into a hug and she spun out of his reach.

“Kathryn. Trust me.”

“Like you trusted me yesterday?” she retorted, sounding both indignant and terrified, wounded.

She stalked out of the bedroom. He followed, heartbroken as he watched her put her boots on and pick up her jacket.

“Don't run away from me.” She allowed him to pull her against his body, but felt tense, wooden in his arms.

“Too much,” she whispered into his chest. “It’s too big a risk.” She pulled away from him and walked out the door.


	36. Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Fair Haven and Pathfinder
> 
> “I think I might have lost my mind,” she started. “Your – uh, proposal caught me off guard. I felt like we were just getting back to a good spot.” She looked up at him. “I was just starting to wonder what else was going to happen to mess it up.” She made a small sound that could have been a laugh. “Turns out it was me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy. But fixed. I've been exhausted and this feels a bit cheesy but it's what I've got. 
> 
> Besides, Fair Haven was stupid. So I fixed it. 
> 
> For Emilie_786, for all your wonderful insight. ❤

She'd left Nelix's party early, as she usually did. He'd not followed; he’d been giving her space since his failed proposal. He couldn't regret it; he meant it, and he had convinced himself that he was just being honest. They both deserved to know that he was serious. And since he couldn't take it back, he figured she just needed some time. Patience had always been a particular strength for him.

When he arrived at his quarters, he was shocked to find Kathryn was already there, leaning against the wall of his shower, head against the tile, water flowing over her body.

“Kathryn,” He said softly.

She spun to face him, eyes bright. She looked so small, naked in his shower. She was shivering, although the water was hot, tendrils of steam wrapping themselves around her slight frame. He turned the water off and wrapped her in a towel. He drew her into his arms, her head landing on his chest with a listless thunk. Her wet hair soaked into his shirt.

He brushed a wet lock from her cheek. He traced her face with gentle fingers, cupping her cheek. She turned away, pushing herself from his embrace.

“Sorry for using your shower.” Her voice was low and empty. “I – I’m – not sure –" she stopped, lost for words.

“It’s fine,” he reassured. “I'm glad you're here.”

“Really?” She sounded skeptical.

“Always.”

“Being in my quarters felt – uncomfortable. Or, um, lonely.”

“Kathryn.” He was confused, but not unhappy.

“Chakotay,” she answered, tone muted, dejected. “I'm sorry, I'll go.”

“Stay.”

“I don't want to intrude.”

“Stay,” he said again, softly.

Silently she studied him. He could tell by the precise way she held herself, the careful control with which she moved, that she was in agony.

Her lip trembled, and she drew her mouth together in a valiant attempt to control it. 

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was barley a whisper.

“For what?” he asked, honestly curious, and concerned over her suffering tonight.

She frowned at him. She stepped toward him and he wrapped his arms around her.

“I panicked.” She licked her lips. “I – I screwed up.”

He smiled. “Let's get you dressed, we can talk.” He let her go and went to his wardrobe and found a tee shirt and handed it to her. He replicated two cups of coffee while she dressed and met her with them on his couch.

She accepted the proffered coffee and took a reverent sip. He watched her calmly; she was here, finally, and hope was making him giddy.

“I think I might have lost my mind,” she started. “Your – uh, proposal caught me off guard. I felt like we were just getting back to a good spot.” She looked up at him. “I was just starting to wonder what else was going to happen to mess it up.” She made a small sound that could have been a laugh. “Turns out it was me.”

“We’re okay.” He took her hand. “You needed some time. Perhaps I gave you too much space again.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “I started to question myself, especially after the contact with Starfleet. About the choices I've made. The – ah, the – ”

“Our relationship,” he finished when she faltered.

She only nodded.

“It’s okay.” His voice was reassuring.

“I needed – needed to know if it was truly us, or – God, this sounds terrible. Or if it was situational.”

“The hologram,” He guessed. She nodded again. “What did you determine?”

She was quiet, staring into her coffee. He didn't push her. “You don't have to answer me tonight.”

“You've always been so careful. So patient. Kind.”

“I love you, Kathryn. Every part of you. All of this. I'm all in.”

“As a captain, an officer, I've never been afraid of taking risks.” She set her coffee on the table. She took his face in both her hands. They were warm from where she had held the cup. She studied his eyes.

“I'm sorry I was so afraid. I don't deserve you, but I'm finished being cautious. You've been _everything_ to me, out here. And it's you, it's us. You've always been – meticulous with my heart.” She had tears in her eyes. “Yes, Chakotay.” She kissed him. “Yes, I will marry you.”


	37. Unbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Memorial 
> 
> “I've never imagined anything so horrible,” she murmured. He brushed his fingers through her hair.
> 
> “I know.” His hands stilled in her hair.
> 
> “But you have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Erestorandfin. Because I love you, all of you, scars and silences. I hope you found some peace this week.

Her voice sounded tired as she granted him entrance to her ready room. She did not look up when he entered but continued staring at her workstation.

“How’s everyone doing?” she asked, still without looking up. 

“Okay. They are difficult memories to learn to live with.” He smiled. “How did you know it was me? What if it had been Harry at your door.”

She did look up then, smiled at him. She looked awful, honestly; there were dark circles under her eyes, she was pale and looked thin. “Harry doesn't check on me two hours after his shift ends.”

He smiled more deeply, dropping his head to his chest. “You got me there.”

He walked around her desk and set his hands to rubbing her neck. She moaned and dropped her head to allow him access.

“I know you're upset that we didn't destroy it,” she fretted, tensing again under his hands.

“I understand,” he said softly, “even though, you're right, I disagree.” He dug a little harder at her tense shoulders.

“I appreciate your point of view.”

“Or you're just saying that so I keep massaging,” He teased.

“Or that,” she agreed, and he could hear the smile in her words. “Destroying the memorial would not have helped us forget.”

Silence settled over them, comfortable and soothing.

“I've never imagined anything so horrible,” she murmured. He brushed his fingers through her hair.

“I know.” His hands stilled in her hair.

“But you have.” It wasn't a question, and he wasn't sure how to answer her. “I always sympathized with the Maquis, although I can't say I agreed with some of the methods.” She turned to look at him. “But I think I understand more – better, now.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me,” he confessed.

“I'm sorry we haven't talked about it before.” She took his hand and kissed his palm. “It's such a substantial part of who you are, and – and I've always acted – always _chosen_ to ignore it.” Her admission was tinged with embarrassment, self-reproach. “It didn't fit with the – with the man I love.”

“Didn't it?” He couldn't take his eyes from her. She reached a hand to trace his cheek, his tattoo.

“It does, now.”

He felt the tear splash on his cheek before he realized he was crying.

“I see you, Chakotay.” She stood to take him in her arms. “I see you.” He pressed his face into her shoulder, a breath that verged on a sob escaping as she tightened her embrace.

“And I love you.” She kissed the top of his head, still buried against her. “All of you, scars and silences. I'm all in.” She repeated his words from only a few days ago, and they fell around him, the most precious gift she'd ever offered, and he felt a part of himself unbreak; her grace healing a part of him he didn't even remember being broken.


	38. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Child’s Play 
> 
> He felt the storm breaking, the waves of it crashing over her body, the fallout inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my muse, Voyagirl47

It was dark when he entered his quarters, but he could make her out on the couch, asleep with her book resting on her chest. It wasn't terribly late but he knew she'd been exhausted after the last few days; Icheb's parents had been difficult, Seven had been difficult, and of course rescuing Icheb had been grueling.

He debated letting her sleep, but knew her neck would be sore if he left her there. Decision made, he gently lifted her off the couch and pulled her curled body against his chest.

Her eyelids fluttered sleepily and she wrapped an arm around his neck, snuggling against him.

“Shhh. I've got you,” he murmured when she hummed a small protest at being carried.

“I’m able to walk,” she asserted, voice low with exhaustion. “You don't have to carry me.” He didn't miss that she wasn’t struggling to get down. He smiled. She always had to challenge his attempts to take care of her; he loved when she attempted to do so when she obviously didn't mean it.

He set her on the bed and she burrowed into the blankets. He climbed in next to her and she nestled against his chest. She shivered and he wrapped her in his arms as he pulled the blankets over them.

She was relaxed, but he knew she was no longer asleep. He felt guilty for waking her.

“Have you ever wanted children?” she asked, latent drowsiness making her voice gravelly.

The question was unexpected; he wasn’t sure what to say. “I haven't thought a lot about it.” He recognized his evasion for what it was.

She did too. “That's not an answer.”

He was quiet for several minutes.

“I don't know that I've been in a position to – evaluate that option. When I was younger, in Starfleet, it felt like it was something so far away. And with the Maquis, it was definitely not an option. The first time I was forced to consider it was with – ” he hesitated, “with Sesksa.”

She didn't respond, and he wondered if she had fallen back to sleep while he’d been considering his response.

Her hand came to trace his cheek. “You'd be an amazing father.”

He kissed her forehead and ran one hand through her hair.

“What's in your head, Kathryn?”

She looked up at him, questioningly.

“Some storm is brewing up here,” he tapped her temple. “Tell me.”

“How did you _feel,_ Chakotay, when you thought you had a son?”

“Confused, mostly. Helpless.” He kissed her forehead again. “I didn't want for him to have the – the life he had ahead of him. Not that I didn't want him to live. I just couldn't figure out _how_ – ” he faltered, unsure of what to say.

“Did you love him?”

“I think so. I wanted to.” His fingers continued to lace through her hair, smiling at her persistent, systematic interrogation. “It was a lot to process, at the time.”

“Would you have kept him? If he'd been yours?” Her voice had taken on a strange quality, almost – _angry,_ he thought, but he wasn't sure. 

“Of course. I thought that's why we'd gone after Seska in the first place.”

“Were you sad when you found out he wasn't yours?”

“Yes.” He answered without thinking, shocked to hear his own affirmation, surprised at the strength of emotion he still felt.

She seemed satisfied with his answers and returned her head to rest on his chest. He knew there was more from the tension in her shoulders, the curl of her hand against his hip, but he waited, letting her collect her thoughts.

“I always wanted children. It's a big part of why I took the Voyager assignment. Short missions, mostly diplomatic.” She laughed but there was no joy in it. “Mark and I were planning to – to start – our family when I got back.”

He hugged her closer to him, his heart breaking for her loss.

She began to tremble against him. “I can't imagine having a child and using him as a weapon.”

He felt the storm breaking, the waves of it crashing over her body, the fallout inevitable, in the face of the ethical and emotional implications; inevitable in the depth of the spirit of Kathryn Janeway, whose capacity for love and self-sacrifice were unmatched; inevitable in the overwhelming heart of this fiery tempest who was currently lacerating herself against the unyielding morality at the center of her soul. He felt his heart breaking along with hers in the jagged depths of her grief.

No matter what she showed anyone else, the crew, foreign diplomats, he knew she experienced profound emotions, felt them deeply and fiercely.

He understood too, at this moment, that it was not the loss of Icheb the child she was mourning, nor was it the loss of a brilliant scientific mind; the failure for which she could not forgive Icheb's parents was the failure to protect him, to perform the most essential responsibility of a guardian. Their failure to choose Icheb over themselves.

It was the same failure with which she flogged herself on her darkest days. The agony of it shook her body and wrenched the tears from her eyes. She wept for the crew members they'd lost, for Icheb, and tonight, for the family she'd lost with Mark.

He held her as she cried, kissing her face and stroking her hair. It was not a long deluge for all its ferocity, and she reclaimed her composure as utter exhaustion settled around her; she rested her cheek against his heart.

“Do you ever think – ” She started, then stopped, raising her head to hold his gaze. She traced his tattoo before turning over, pulling his arm over her waist. He shifted to curl around her. She was so quiet and so still that he was certain she was asleep. He was just on the verge of sleep himself when he heard her low voice, no less fervid for its softness, “I love you, Chakotay.”


End file.
